How to Avoid a Boring Eulogy — Pt. 5:

Say the Things Most People Save for the Funeral

On July 1st, 2022, hundreds of people gathered in Oviedo, Florida, to celebrate the life of 22-year-old Nix Thomas. He was young. Far too young. But Nix lived in a way most people only hope to.

I first met Nix when he was a passionate young cheerleader getting ready to try out for the UCF cheer team. We never actually got to cheer together—we missed each other by a couple of years—but many of my teammates did, and the impact he had on their lives was undeniable.

My former coach once shared something that stuck with me.

He said, “When Nix was struggling, he’d say, ‘Hey Coach, I need to talk. This is the man I want to be. How do I become that? Can you help me?’”

There’s a kind of wisdom in that. A humility. A willingness to let people in.

But if you knew Nix—or if you’ve ever heard about him—you probably know the one thing he was known for. The phrase that filled the room that day in July and stayed in the hearts of everyone who loved him:

“Tell somebody you love them, even if they don’t say it back.”

– Nix Thomas

That’s the kind of line most people save for funerals, but Nix lived it.

Most of us hold our words a little too tightly.

We think highly of people but feel awkward saying it out loud.

We’re moved by someone’s presence, but we brush it off instead of naming it.

We use polite conversation to avoid real connection.

It’s easier to say, “Good to see you,” than to say,

“Hey, I’ve been going through a lot lately, and talking to you has been a bright spot I didn’t know I needed.”

It’s easier to say, “Let’s catch up soon,” than to admit, “I haven’t been a great friend. I miss you. I want to do better.”

But what if we started calling things out in real time?

What if we became the kind of people who gave specific, personal, honest encouragement without needing a reason?

“You’re an incredible dad. It’s inspiring to watch.”

“I admire how you lead your team with quiet confidence.”

“The way you show up for people is rare and powerful.”

We don’t need a eulogy to say those things, we just need to be a little braver.

Because here’s the truth:

If we want to avoid a boring eulogy, we have to be people who live un-boring lives.

Not loud or flashy, but authentic.

Not performative, but purposeful.

Not perfect, but real.

A boring eulogy isn’t the result of a quiet life.

It’s the result of an unspoken one.

We all carry things in our hearts that were meant to be shared. And when we hold them back—when we bury the compliment, the apology, the story—we rob ourselves (and others) of connection.

All through high school and college, I worked at a summer gymnastics camp called FlipFest. Every Wednesday, during our morning staff meeting, we were encouraged to do something simple but profound:

Pick up the phone and call someone you’ve drifted from.

No pressure. No guilt.

Just an invitation to take a small step toward reconnection.

And you know what?

Some of the most powerful conversations I’ve ever had started from that prompt.

So let this be your Wednesday morning at camp.

Pick up the phone. Send the message. Say the words.

Not because you’re trying to fix everything.

Not because you’re guaranteed a perfect ending.

Not because it’s someone’s birthday.

Not because something dramatic has happened.

But because you’re becoming the kind of person who doesn’t wait for the funeral to say what matters.

If we want to live lives that people talk about when we’re gone—lives that mean something—we can’t just talk about love, we have to practice it.

Out loud. In real time. While we still have the chance.

Because stories that never leave your heart can never change someone else’s.

Say the awkward thing.

Be someone’s pump-up song in real life.

Offer the compliment.

Tell somebody you love them—even if they don’t say it back!

We don’t become bold overnight.

We become bold through practice.

And these small decisions—the texts, the calls, the conversations—shape who we are becoming.

They make us the kind of people whose lives are remembered not for how we avoided risk, but for how we embraced it.

Not for how we played it cool, but for how we showed up fully.

Go live, my friends!

—Stephen