Who am I?
Hi, I’m Omar, the founder and CEO of Kinnect. This blog is part of the "From Omar" series, where I share my reflections on family, relationships, and the memories we carry. These aren’t polished —
Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how we see ourselves—not just how we look or how others see us, but how we recognize our growth.
I’m in my 30s now, and I notice moments where I question whether I’m changing or life is shifting around me. Am I different, or are my routines just evolving? It’s not always obvious.
Like today, I went kayaking. That sounds cool, but it wasn’t as smooth as it sounds. The ocean was wild. I felt unsettled as if I wasn’t fully ready for the experience. Part of me wondered, Is it the water or me? I kept thinking about how the younger me would have handled it. Would he have jumped in without hesitation? Would he have been more fearless, present, and less caught up in his head?
But then I thought: Maybe I’m not giving myself enough credit. The younger me didn’t know what I know now. The younger me didn’t have patience. He didn’t think ahead. He couldn’t sit in discomfort and still keep going.
That’s the version of myself I’m sitting with right now — the one that’s still learning to honor all of who I am. Not just the "braver" version of me from the past, but also the version of me right now, doing his best in the moment he’s in.
The difference between seeing who you were and seeing who you are
A lot about the way we track our growth.
There are journals for our thoughts, photos for our memories, and even apps that track what we did on "this day" a year ago. But none of those things show who we are becoming. They capture isolated moments, not the bigger story.
A journal tells you how you felt on a specific day, but it doesn’t show the arc of how you’ve changed. A photo shows you a single image but doesn’t capture what is happening inside you.
That’s why I’m so drawn to shared moments — not just the solo ones we track for ourselves, but the experiences we have with others. Because if I think about who I am today, I don’t see it in my journal entries. I see it in the way my relationships have shifted. I see how I handle things differently now than five years ago.
There’s something about shared experiences that helps you see yourself more clearly. Not just your "best self" or your "most successful self," but all of you — the messy, in-between parts too. The parts that don’t fit neatly into a highlight reel.
That’s what I’m trying to improve: seeing myself, not just in the apparent moments but in the quiet, overlooked ones, too.
Why it’s hard to see growth in the moment
I’ve learned that you rarely notice growth while it’s happening.
If you had asked me during kayaking today if I was "growing," I would have laughed. I wasn’t thinking about growth. I thought about how hard it was to paddle and how much I wanted to be on steady ground. But looking back, I see it differently.
Growth is like that. It’s never something you feel in the moment. It’s something you see later. That’s why so many of us question if we’re changing. We expect it to feel like a significant, apparent shift — but that’s not how it works. Growth is subtle. It’s quiet. It happens in the middle of discomfort, not at the end of it.
I used to think growth was about "leveling up" into a better version of myself. But now I see it differently. Growth isn’t about being better—it’s about being more aware of how you handle fear, process change, and show up for yourself, even when it’s hard.
That awareness doesn’t come all at once. It’s something you notice when you look back.
The power of pre-writing your future self
I’ve been thinking a lot about this idea of "pre-writing" myself.
What if, instead of only reflecting on who I used to be, I also left messages for my future self?
I’ve been sitting with this idea lately—the concept of writing notes to future me. Not in a vague "dear future self" way but in a personal, specific, and encouraging way. Because I know there will be moments when I will need it.
Here’s what I mean: Right now, I feel strong. I feel clear. I feel proud of the growth I’m seeing in myself. But I also know there will be moments where I’ll forget that. I’ll doubt myself. I’ll question my progress. And I think if I had a message from this version of me, the clear-headed one, it would make a difference.
If I could talk to my future self, I’d say something like this:
"Hey, I know things feel messy right now, but you’ve been here before. You’ve done harder things than this. Keep going. The version of you from 2024 is proud of you, even if you can’t see it yet."
It sounds simple, but that kind of message could matter. It’s like sending a time capsule to yourself — a reminder that you’ve already faced hard things and face them again.
What it means to celebrate the version of you that exists right now
I’m trying to get better at this: celebrating the version of me right now. Not just the version I’m working toward but the version that’s already here.
We’re trained to believe that we’re always supposed to improve. Continually growing, always striving. And yeah, growth is good. But so is resting in the moment.
I don’t think I do that enough. I don’t think most of us do.
If I think about who I am today — after the kayak trip, after all the ups and downs — I’m proud of him. I’m proud he’s trying to see himself more clearly, even when uncomfortable. I’m proud that he’s learning to embrace the "bold" younger version of himself and the wiser, more patient version that exists now.
And I hope I remember that in the future.
Because I know there will be days when I forget.
I hope the future me looks back at 2024 me and says, "You were doing better than you thought. I’m proud of you for trying."
Closing thoughts
If I could talk to my future self, I’d tell him this:
"Don’t wait for the perfect moment to feel proud of yourself. Feel it now. Celebrate this version of you, even if he’s still figuring it out. You’re doing better than you think."
That’s a message I think we could all use.
abrazos,
omar
