Michael Jordan Found a Letter He Wrote as a Teen—What It Said Changed Everything

In March 2023, Michael Jordan, the basketball legend known for his six NBA championships and countless accolades, stumbled upon something that would take him back to one of the most defining moments of his life. While packing boxes in his Highland Park mansion, preparing for a move, Michael found an old, yellowed envelope tucked away in the back of his desk drawer. Written on the front in faded blue ink were the words, “Do not open until 2023.” It was his own handwriting, but from over four decades ago. Inside was a letter from his 16-year-old self—a letter written during one of the darkest moments of his life. What it said would remind him of how failure had fueled his greatness and how it had shaped the man he had become.

Michael sat on the floor of his home office, surrounded by memories from his career: championship trophies, MVP awards, and photos of iconic moments. But all of those accomplishments suddenly felt distant as he held the envelope in his hands. His wife, Yvette, noticed his hesitation. “Are you going to open it?” she asked. Michael’s hands trembled. “I’m scared,” he admitted. For a man who had faced the pressure of championship games and the weight of being a global icon, this fear felt different. “This letter is from the worst time in my life,” he explained. “What if it changes how I see everything that came after?”

The date on the envelope, November 15, 1979, hit Michael like a punch to the gut. He remembered that day vividly. It was the day he had been cut from the varsity basketball team at Laney High School in Wilmington, North Carolina. He was just 16 years old, a sophomore with big dreams of playing varsity basketball. But when the team list was posted, his name wasn’t on it. The humiliation was unbearable. He had locked himself in his bedroom that night, refusing to talk to anyone. That was the night he had written the letter.

Back in 1979, Michael had been heartbroken. He felt like a failure. His best friend, Leroy Smith, had made the team, and Michael hadn’t. The whispers and stares at school only made it worse. “I’m not good enough,” he had thought. “Maybe I should quit basketball altogether.” But something inside him wouldn’t let him give up. That night, through tears, he wrote the letter to his future self. He poured his pain, anger, and determination onto the page, making promises to himself that would guide the rest of his life.

As Michael sat in his office in 2023, the memories of that time came flooding back. He could still hear his father’s voice outside his bedroom door, telling him that failure was just a teacher in disguise. He could still feel the sting of rejection, the embarrassment of being laughed at by his classmates. And he could still recall the moment he decided to prove everyone wrong.

Finally, Michael opened the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of notebook paper, the blue lines faded but still visible. His teenage handwriting was careful and deliberate, as if every word mattered. He read the letter aloud to Yvette, his voice shaking with emotion.

“Dear Future Michael,
I’m writing this on November 15, 1979. Today was the worst day of my life. I got cut from the basketball team. Everyone thinks I’m a failure. Sometimes I think they’re right. But I’m making you some promises, Future Michael. Promises that I will keep no matter what.

Promise #1: I will never let anyone outwork me. Ever. I will be the first person in the gym and the last person to leave. I will practice when others are sleeping. I will practice until my hands bleed and my legs shake. No one will want it more than me.

Promise #2: I will turn this pain into power. Every time someone doubts me, I will use it as fuel. Every time someone says I can’t do something, I will prove them wrong.

Promise #3: I will prove that getting cut was the best thing that ever happened to me. This rejection will not break me. It will make me stronger.

Promise #4: When I’m famous someday—and I will be famous—I’ll find a way to help other kids who get cut from their teams. I’ll show them that failure is just the beginning, not the end.

Future Michael, I want you to remember something. The boy who got cut from the team is still inside you. Don’t ever forget him. That feeling of not being good enough is your superpower. It’s what will drive you when things get easy. It’s what will push you when everyone else stops pushing. The cut saved you. The rejection made you. The failure was actually success in disguise. Never forget the boy who wasn’t ready yet. He’s the reason you became great.

Love,

Past Michael”

Michael’s voice cracked as he finished reading. “I completely forgot about this,” he said, tears streaming down his face. “But I’ve been living by these promises my whole life.” Yvette smiled. “You didn’t forget, Michael. You kept your word, even if you didn’t remember making it.”

The letter reminded Michael of how far he had come. It wasn’t the championships, the MVP awards, or the fame that defined his greatness. It was his refusal to give up, his ability to turn failure into fuel, and his commitment to helping others. He thought about all the kids he had inspired through his basketball camps and charity work. He thought about Jamal, a 12-year-old boy he had recently met in Wilmington who had been cut from his middle school basketball team. Michael had spent hours working with him, teaching him the same lessons he had learned as a teenager. “Getting cut doesn’t mean you’re not good enough,” he had told Jamal. “It means you’re not ready yet.”

As Michael sat there holding the letter, he realized that his greatest victory wasn’t any championship he had won. It was keeping his word to a heartbroken 16-year-old boy who refused to give up on his dreams. The boy who got cut had become the man who never forgot where he came from. And the promises he made in that letter had shaped not just his career, but his character.

In the end, the letter wasn’t just a message to his future self. It was a reminder to everyone that failure is not the end—it’s the beginning. Michael Jordan’s story proves that setbacks are setups for comebacks and that the greatest strength often comes from the greatest pain.