5 min read · The Pillars I Stand On
I was twenty-one years old on my first trip to Las Vegas.
There were four couples on the trip. Most of the group worked in real estate, were older than us, and had done very well for themselves already. A few of us were younger and still trying to figure life out.
One night we all went to dinner at an expensive steakhouse on the strip. The dinner started with three bottles of wine. One hundred and fifty dollars each. I remember quietly doing math in my head the moment they hit the table. Then I opened the menu. The steaks were over a hundred dollars. Everything else was à la carte. The wine had just been opened and dinner hadn’t even been ordered yet when I realized I could not afford this night.
Suddenly I wasn’t thinking about dinner anymore. I was thinking about my credit card sitting in my wallet with a thousand dollar limit and what would happen if I maxed it out at the beginning of a Vegas trip. Worse, what would happen if the card got declined at the table while everyone tried to split the bill.
The people we were with had money. I watched them lose more at the craps table in a few minutes than I made in weeks. Now I wasn’t broke, but I also didn’t belong financially in that room and I knew it.
I was sitting next to the man who owned the real estate company. At some point before dinner was ordered, I leaned over quietly and said something,
I can’t afford this dinner.
My head was bowed with embarrassed saying those words. I wanted to be part of the group. I wanted to relax and enjoy the night like everyone else seemed to be doing. Instead I was sitting there trying to figure out how not to drown financially before the trip had really even started.
He didn’t expose me. He didn’t make it awkward. He quietly put his arm around me and said something that changed my life.
When I was in college, I was in the same boat you’re in right now. Except, I was college broke. Someone did this for me and now I’m going to pass it along.
Then he smiled and said:
Your time will come. When it does, all I ask is that you pay it forward.
I had probably heard the phrase before somewhere in passing, maybe in a movie, but it had never really registered with me before that moment.
We sat there quietly for a moment after that conversation. I remember exactly how it felt. Like my dad putting his arm around me and telling me everything was going to be okay. I didn’t feel judged. I didn’t feel small. I felt understood. I believed him immediately when he said my time would come. Not because I thought someday I’d be rich, but because I understood there would come a moment in my life when I would be able to do for someone else what he had just done for me. What I didn’t understand yet was the weight of the philosophy itself.
At twenty-one years old, I thought paying it forward meant someday buying someone dinner.
I didn’t yet understand that what he had handed me was a responsibility.
· · ·
I carried it for thirty years. Every person I invested in, every floor I helped raise, every ceiling I helped someone else break through, that was the chain extending. I wasn’t always thinking about Las Vegas when I did it. But that night was underneath all of it.
· · ·
I was sitting in a restaurant when I overheard a young couple quietly talking about money and an expensive educational program that was about to change their lives. This dinner was one last night out together before life got harder financially. I recognized the feeling immediately. Not the exact circumstances but the feeling.
I remembered what it felt like sitting in that steakhouse in Las Vegas trying to figure out how not to drown financially before the trip had even really started. I remembered what it felt like wanting to belong in the room while quietly wondering if I could afford to be there.
We lingered a bit until they had ordered their main dishes, then I quietly told the waitress I wanted to pay for their bill. I asked her not to tell them until after we were gone. Then I asked her to add enough to the tab to cover the most expensive dessert on the menu so they could order whatever they wanted afterward. I didn’t want them skipping dessert to save money. I wanted them to enjoy the night. The same way someone once gave me permission to enjoy that dinner in Las Vegas.
The waitress was visibly shocked.
Before we left, I asked the waitress to pass along a message.
When you tell them the dinner was taken care of, tell them the only thing he asks is that one day they pay it forward.
When I walked out of that restaurant that night I left with a smile on my face and hope in my heart.
He was right. My time did come.
What made me smile was not paying for their meal. It was knowing that night’s story was going to live inside two strangers and hopefully they would retell this story. The hope was that the idea would move forward again and multiply.
My smile was tied to hope.
Hope that somewhere down the line, when their moment comes, they will do the same.
That was the real gift.
When your time comes, pay it forward.