What I’d Tell My 19-Year-Old Self – 10 Years After Worlds 2015

A reflection on legacy, growth, and the lessons that last.

Dear 19-Year-Old Me,

It’s been ten years since my final performance on TGLC—Worlds 2015. I was 19, a super senior, experiencing the last chapter of my athlete journey on a senior team while standing at the peak of my career. It’s hard to describe the feeling of being in a moment that feels both like the finish line and the dream come true — because that year, it was both.

That season marked my third and final year on TGLC. I was living away from home since age 16, homeschooled, and fully immersed in training. The days were long, the practices relentless, and the expectations sky-high. But through all of it—every rep, every routine, every push—I was doing what I loved more than anything: cheerleading. My dream didn’t just come true; it unfolded into something far greater than I ever could’ve imagined.

And if there’s one thing I did right during that time, it was being present. I knew it was special while I was living it. I didn’t take it for granted. I felt the weight of the moment, the beauty of the journey, and the magic of standing beside teammates who felt more like family. I look back at those days with pride—and with memories I simply can’t forget.

Now, a decade later, I see that chapter with more clarity. Life has stretched me, humbled me, grown me. I’ve experienced moments that have tested me far more than any full-out ever could. And through it all, I’ve collected lessons—some hard-earned—that I wish I had understood back then. Not to change what happened, but to move through it with more peace, more self-trust, and maybe a little less pressure.

This isn’t about rewriting the past. It’s about sharing what I’ve learned with the hope that someone out there—whether graduating, a college athlete, or just someone trying to navigate what comes next—can take something from these words and carry them into their own journey.

Here are five things I wish I could tell my 19-year-old self ten years ago—and one light-hearted, not so serious piece of advice i’d also include if I had the chance.

1. Perform like it’s your first time.

The more seasoned you become, the easier it is to slip into autopilot. Routines turn into muscle memory, expectations become pressure, and the moments can start to blur. But that first-time feeling—the adrenaline, the awe, the love for performing—don’t let that fade or become something you take for granted.

Even when you’ve hit the same motions a thousand times, bring the energy of that very first performance. That fire. That hunger. The drive to show the world how much it means to you. Don’t let it feel too routine. Let the audience—and the judges—forget everything you’ve accomplished before and feel your desire to earn it all over again.

Let your energy speak louder than your technique. Every performance is a chance to make someone feel something. And when you treat it like it’s your first time all over again, that spark will never leave you.

2. Lift heavier—even if it means showing up sore.

You always wanted to show up as your best at practice, and that mindset served you well. But don’t be afraid of a little soreness. Don’t hold back in the weight room just to preserve a “perfect” practice. Pushing yourself physically—especially with intentional strength training—will take your performance to a new level.

Yes, it’s uncomfortable. And yes, it might affect a rep or two in the short term. But developing real strength—particularly in your hamstrings and glutes—will only enhance your power for jumps, tumbling, and stunting. Contrary to what you once feared, stronger muscles don’t mean tighter ones, and they certainly don’t mean lower jumps. I know that’s important to you.

While we’re here—your jumps don’t need to be max height every single time. Your capabilities are clear. Proving it every rep is sickening, but give yourself permission to build for the long game.

3. Perfection is overrated.

You spent a lot of time trying to get everything “right.” You cared about doing a good job, and that’s admirable—but don’t let that desire for perfection silence your authenticity.

People aren’t inspired by flawless routines. They’re moved by real ones. Let people see the cracks. Let them see your fire. Stop holding yourself to an impossible standard to please people who already admire you for who you are.

Trying to be perfect made you feel like you had to act a certain way, say the right thing, do everything "just so” and become a quiet, shy version of yourself. That pressure…. exhausting. And ultimately, unsustainable. Lean into who you are. That’s where your power is.

Halfway point – Serious but not serious advice:

• Stop tweezing your eyebrows

• Your retainer is going to break—get it replaced immediately. Your teeth are gonna shift.

4. You’re already doing what you want to do.

Back then, your energy was split—40% on cheer, 60% on figuring out life after high school. You felt pressure to go to a “good” college, to have a clear plan, to make your path make sense to others.

But here’s the thing: you were already living your dream. You were coaching, performing, teaching private lessons, traveling, growing—and you loved it. That was the plan.

It’s okay to not follow a conventional path. Avoiding student loans, taking your time, and trusting your gut wasn’t failure—it was wisdom. You didn’t need a degree to validate the path you were already walking with purpose. Own that more. You were already doing the thing.

5. You’ll fail - and still win.

You’re a two-time world champion going for your third title. You’ve worked hard, given everything, and have every reason to expect the best. But this year? Things won’t go the way you planned.

You’ll fall short. It’ll hurt. And it’ll feel like the end of the world for a moment. But it won’t be.

That loss will teach you more than any win ever could. It will be your first true “failure”—and it will shape you in the best way. You’ll realize that falling short isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of becoming someone with depth, resilience, and a broader perspective.

Failure is proof that you tried. That you cared. That you stepped up to the challenge. Some people go their whole lives without risking failure, and in doing so, never get close to greatness. You won’t be one of them.

Final Message to My 19-Year-Old Self

I love you, and I’m so proud of you.

Everything you're about to go through—every win, every loss, every moment of self-doubt and joy—it all matters. It all adds up. You won’t always see it in real time, but one day, you’ll look back and know:

You were doing just fine.
You were already becoming exactly who you were meant to be.

Keep going, have fun and enjoy!

— Josh