Good morning, John. Almost 10 years ago, I got on stage wearing a lanyard in the worst way possible and told a room full of people something that I still think is true. You have no obligation to your former self. 

Past Hank: There is one person I can say objectively that I am smarter than, and it is me four years ago. He knew, like, all the things that I currently know except less and he had all the life experiences that I currently have except fewer. So why do I have an obligation to a guy who not only is dumber than me, but literally does not exist?

If the wisdom of the last 10 years said knowing full well that I am, as that guy 10 years ago said, smarter than him, I could add some nuance to that statement. Yes, my former self is dumber than me. No, they don't exist, but I am also just a story that I tell to myself about myself. That's what I am. And so there is something kind of tricky about having no obligation to my former self. It is easy, I think too easy these days sometimes, to lose connections to our past, to our friends, to our communities, to our families, to our places and our nations and our religions and our histories because ultimately it is, you know, probably true that those things are arbitrary. We just happened into them and maybe good, maybe bad there are easier things in life to do than to feel connected to those things, like TikTok is the easiest thing, right? Smartphone games are very easy. Doing what you got to do to get your work done, it's easy to prioritize that because you got to pay the bills. The kinds of investments that we make in connection I think are harder, if in part because they're not necessary. We are not obliged to maintain them. Now some of them we are. We feel that obligation and sometimes we don't. This is very different for different people. But I think the amount of obligation that we feel to our former selves, to our communities, to our families, I think it's safe to say that even if it's high for you, it is on average lower for society as a whole than it was 50 years ago.

John, when I was in high school, I was a bit of a punk (or I like to think of myself that way). I listened to the The Dead Milkmen and Rancid and Operation Ivy and The Clash and I did not wanna have a normal standard life because, y’know of course I didn't, I was a high school student, but I definitely didn't want to be a businessman, I didn't want to be a lawyer. And I remember having the thought many times that when I was 40-years old I wanted to get a mohawk because that would prove that I had a job where you could get a mohawk, which would mean that I had succeeded in the 17-year old Hank's version of what a cool life was. And honestly that's dumb, it's silly. Until quite recently, I had a job where getting mohawk would have made my job and the jobs of my peers harder. It was just like a little-not like, substantially but enough. But, that doesn't mean that I didn't think about it. I totally did. I thought about what I owe that former version of myself and my thought was, “You know nothing. He's dumber than me and he doesn't exist.” 

But look, I am a story that I tell to myself and 17-year old me is a vital part of that story. I am not him, but I love him. I care about him. I care about and love a lot of people who don't exist anymore, whether they've died or they've just changed. Like I care about and love 20-year old Katherine and she's not that same person anymore, but I still love 20-year old Katherine and I also love 43-year old Katherine.

17-year old me was so certain and passionate and scared and wild and often very kind. He was a good guy. He was kinda wonderful, and he became me. And I feel like I was given an opportunity this week to honor him. So here I am John. I do not have no obligation to my former self. I have the amount of obligation to my former self that I want to have and I want to have some.

John, I'll see you on Tuesday.