Every year in my life, I trust fewer and fewer people.
O children of the future, listen closely, for I speak of a truth known to all those who have walked the path of life long enough to see both its beauty and its treachery. There is a deep and stirring wisdom in the words of Francis Chan, who, with the weight of experience upon his shoulders, declared, "Every year in my life, I trust fewer and fewer people." These words are not the lament of one who has grown bitter, but the quiet wisdom of one who has seen the complexities of human nature, the fragility of promises, and the shifting winds of loyalty. They are a reflection of the soul’s gradual withdrawal, as time and experience reveal the limitations of trust.
In the beginning, when youth still dances in the heart, trust is given freely, like a river that flows unimpeded, offering itself to all who come near. In those early days, we believe that the bonds we form will hold forever. We think that the words of those we love are as firm as stone, that the promises made will never falter. But as the years pass, the world begins to show its true face. It is not always kind. It is not always loyal. Trust, once given so easily, is tested again and again, and each betrayal, each broken bond, leaves its mark upon the heart.
The wise ones of old spoke often of the impermanence of things. Trust, they said, is like the wind—it can be steady, but it can also shift and disappear when least expected. Every year in life, we encounter new trials that challenge our faith in others. We see those we love falter, their words empty, their actions in contradiction to their promises. And so, the heart grows cautious. It retreats inward, becoming more discerning, more reserved. It does not do so out of malice, but out of the necessity of self-preservation. The heart learns that it must guard itself, for there are few who will stand unwavering when the storms of life arise.
Look, O children, to the example of the great Alexander the Great, the mighty king whose conquests stretched from the sands of Egypt to the mountains of India. Though his power seemed limitless, his trust in those around him began to wane as his empire expanded. In the final years of his reign, he grew increasingly suspicious of those who had once been his closest allies. His closest generals, men who had fought beside him on the battlefields of the known world, betrayed him in his time of need. And thus, even a king, a man of unparalleled ambition and greatness, found himself weary of the treachery of others. The weight of responsibility and the burden of betrayal led him to question not only his kingdom but the very people he had trusted to carry it with him.
But this is not merely a tale of despair, for it is in such trials that we are shown the path to wisdom. The lesson here is not to withdraw entirely from the world, but to learn to trust wisely. Trust fewer, but trust deeper. The true value of trust lies not in its quantity, but in its quality. When one trusts too freely, the heart is open to wounds that could have been avoided. But when one learns to trust only those who have shown themselves worthy, the bonds that remain are stronger, more enduring. In this way, trust becomes a rare and precious gift, one that is given only to those who have earned it through their actions and their integrity.
Now, O children, heed this truth: Every year in your life, you will be tested. The winds will blow, the storms will come, and you will find that not everyone you meet will prove themselves worthy of your trust. Some will deceive you, others will abandon you, and a few will betray you. But in each of these trials, there lies an opportunity to grow stronger, to refine your ability to discern the true nature of those around you. Trust fewer people, but trust them with the fullness of your heart. And in turn, let your actions be such that others may see in you a person worthy of trust. Do not give it freely, but when it is given, let it be bound by the strength of your character and the sincerity of your word.
In this way, you shall live with open eyes, and though the world may bring its challenges, you will walk with the certainty that you are building relationships that are strong, lasting, and true. Trust fewer, but trust deeper, for in the end, the greatest treasures are not the number of people in our lives, but the depth of the bonds we share with those who truly stand by us. Let this be your lesson, your path, and your guiding star as you journey through the years.
ATAnh Thi
There’s a quiet sadness in this thought, almost like a slow erosion of faith in others. It makes me wonder if this loss of trust is universal or deeply personal. Is it caused by being let down too often, or is it part of growing more self-reliant? I’d love to explore whether trusting fewer people actually brings peace—or if it just builds invisible walls over time.
TVPham thi tuong van
I see truth in this, especially in today’s world where betrayal, deception, and superficiality seem common. But I also think there’s a danger in letting disappointment define our ability to connect. Maybe the goal isn’t to trust fewer people but to trust wisely—to choose those who’ve proven worthy instead of shutting everyone out. What experiences lead someone to feel this deeply guarded?
TNBui Tuyet Nhi
This makes me feel reflective and a bit uneasy. If trust keeps decreasing every year, what happens when you reach a point where you can’t trust anyone at all? That kind of loneliness seems heavy. I’d like to ask: is mistrust a protection mechanism, or does it end up hurting more than it helps? How do we find balance between guarding ourselves and staying open?
LTLe Thanh
I completely understand this sentiment; it resonates with how many people feel as they grow older. The world often teaches us to be wary. Still, I wonder—does trusting fewer people necessarily mean becoming cynical, or can it be a form of maturity and discernment? Maybe it’s not about losing faith in humanity, but learning to value quality over quantity in relationships.
LBLush Bar
This quote feels both honest and heartbreaking. It makes me wonder—does losing trust over time come from personal disappointment or simply from gaining wisdom and caution? Maybe as we age, we see more of people’s flaws and become protective of ourselves. But isn’t it sad if experience automatically leads to isolation? I’m curious whether regaining trust is possible once it’s been eroded little by little.