Certain elements of teen life that, 10 years ago, were very

Hear now, O seekers of wisdom, the words of Matthew Tobin Anderson, who spoke with humility and perspective: “Certain elements of teen life that, 10 years ago, were very important to me still, are becoming less so as I get older. I mean, I’ve kinda gotten over, I guess I’m saying, the fact that I had trouble getting a date for the prom.” What may sound like a casual reflection is, in truth, a profound teaching on the fleeting weight of youthful troubles, and the way time reshapes what once felt unbearable into something almost laughable.

The nature of teen life is that it magnifies the moment. The heart of a teenager beats louder, the world feels sharper, each joy is a triumph of the universe, and each sorrow feels like the end of days. To be without a companion at the prom, that ritual of youth’s passage, may seem to the young heart like a mark of failure, a wound that cannot heal. Yet as years pass, the scale of life changes. The troubles of youth, once mighty mountains, are revealed to be mere hills, left behind on the long road of growth. Anderson’s words remind us that time itself is the great teacher, turning what was once pain into perspective.

Consider the nature of memory. What seems unbearable in the moment becomes, with distance, softened. The sting of rejection, the embarrassment of solitude, the pangs of desire unmet—all these, in later years, become stories, sometimes even sources of humor. This is not to belittle the real pain of the young, but to remind them: pain changes. The fire that scorches today may warm you tomorrow as you look back and smile at how fiercely you once burned.

History offers us countless examples. Think of Abraham Lincoln, who as a young man suffered heartbreak, business failures, and public defeats that left him in despair. At the time, these sorrows loomed immense. Yet as he aged, those early struggles became but stones on the path that carried him to greatness. The young man who once feared personal humiliation became the leader who carried a nation through civil war. What once seemed unbearable became, in time, irrelevant to the higher purpose of his life.

Anderson’s words point us to this same truth: what matters deeply to us in one season of life may fade in another. The prom, a symbol of social triumph to the teenager, becomes almost trivial when weighed against the duties of adulthood—friendship, love, family, vocation, and purpose. What he once longed for, he now laughs at, showing us that perspective grows with years, and that life constantly shifts the measure of importance.

The lesson, then, is this: do not despair over the trials of youth, for they are not eternal. What feels impossible today will, with the passage of time, become smaller, softer, easier to bear. And what you think defines you now will likely be replaced by new and greater truths. Let the young remember this when they sit alone, anxious or afraid—that time is their ally, and wisdom is their reward for enduring.

Therefore, let us act with patience and kindness, both toward ourselves and toward the young. Let us not mock their struggles, but remind them gently that these struggles will fade. Let us embrace perspective as it comes, and learn to laugh at what once made us weep. For as Anderson has shown, even the sorrow of a lonely prom night can become, in time, not a scar, but a story—and a sign that we have grown beyond the chains of yesterday.