My only granddaughter is turning 21.
Scarlet.
Twenty-one years ago, I held a tiny human who had no idea how much she would change my life. Now she is one year away from finishing college. A whole woman. A whole mind. A whole spirit.
And I’m sitting here wondering how we got here so fast.
Twenty-one is an interesting age. It’s the age the world says, “You’re officially grown.” But what it really means is this: you are standing at the edge of becoming.
Scarlet, if I could sit across from you and speak as your Papa Jamie — not as a media guy, not as a brand, not as anything else — but just your grandfather, I would say this:
I hope you always know who you are before the world tries to tell you who to be.
The world will offer you noise. Opinions. Expectations. Comparisons. Timelines. Pressure. But I hope you build a quiet place inside yourself where your own voice is louder than all of it.
I hope you choose relationships that feel safe. Not dramatic. Not confusing. Not draining. Safe. I hope anyone who walks beside you honors your mind, respects your boundaries, and celebrates your light instead of competing with it.
I hope you take risks — but smart ones. I hope you travel. I hope you try things that scare you a little. I hope you fail once or twice and realize failure is not fatal. It’s formative.
I hope you understand that being strong doesn’t mean you never cry. Being independent doesn’t mean you don’t ask for help. And being a woman in this world does not mean shrinking yourself to make others comfortable.
You are allowed to take up space.