When people hear “midlife crisis,” I’d guess that most picture the same guy. He buys the Corvette, starts working out, has the affair, dates the twenty-five-year-old, starts wearing an expensive watch, and does everything he can to convince himself he’s still twenty-three.
That’s not what happened to me. Mostly because I’ve never had Corvette money, but also for other reasons too.
No. Mine was a lot quieter.
A lot of it? Just simple things like getting rid of ideas I would’ve forced myself to finish ten or twenty years ago. Walking away from things that would’ve excited the shit out of me. Going to bed earlier. Reading more and scrolling less. Getting excited about a chill Saturday morning with coffee, a notebook, and a long walk instead of looking for another distraction.
Somewhere along the way, my definition of success stopped looking flashy and started looking…peaceful.
And to be honest? Yeah, that kinda scared me a little in a way.
Because for most of my life, I spent most of my time chasing the next thing. The next job, business, identity, epiphany. If I could just finally do or achieve this one thing, then maybe I’d finally feel like I was good. Like I was content.
Except yeah…that day never came.
The finish line kept getting moved. By me.
I’m fifty-two now. I’ve been an Air Force satellite systems operator, a salesman, a CNA, an LPN, a sales manager, a landscaper, a writer, an entrepreneur, and an AI junkie.
I’ve quit more projects than most people will ever start. Some worked. Most didn’t. All of them taught me exactly what I needed to know.
Not surprisingly though, for most of my life I assumed all those pivots meant I couldn’t “stick with something”. Now though, I realize I was just looking like hell for that life that actually fit me, even if I didn’t have the words for it yet.
The weird thing is, Mayo Clinic describes midlife as a “normal period of transition and self-reflection when people start questioning who they are, what their purpose is, and how they’ve used their time.”
That sounds a lot closer to my experience than the Corvette story (though I’d still kill for a Corvette).
Nowadays, I’m not trying to have less ambition. I just want better ambition.
I’m still building shit for sure, probably more than ever to be honest. But now I’m trying to build things my eighty-year-old self might actually thank me for. They’ll probably sound corny af if you’re not there yet but, here we are:
* A marriage that gets stronger every year * Kids who know they’re loved * A body that can still carry me into the mountains and pick up grandkids * A business that creates freedom instead of taking more of it away * Writing that might explain me to my kids after I’m gone * Hobbies that I can actually do
They’re not the kind of goals that make for exciting Instagram posts.
But they compound.
I know that a meaningful life includes a lot of boring repetition too so I realize nothing on that list gets built in one fell swoop. You build it slowly. On regular Tuesdays when nobody’s watching and nothing feels like it’s really all that important.
Social media has us convinced that maturity means settling but I’m not buying it.
To me, maturity is more about finally knowing which games are worth playing and which ones aren’t.
These days, I give a lot less f*cks about looking successful, winning arguments, collecting followers, or trying to look busy. I care more about being useful to my fellow humans, understanding people better, earning their trust and respect, and becoming someone the people I love can count on.
Because the thing that people don’t tell you when you’re young is that even though you may think freedom means having no responsibilities, real freedom actually comes from choosing the responsibilities that are worth carrying around with you.
That’s a completely different kind of life.
Maybe that’s why I don’t feel old.
Instead, I feel like now I finally have some idea who I’m meant to be and do. Not completely, because trust me, I’m still capable of chasing an idea halfway down the road before I even know if it’s worth it.
But I know enough now.
Enough to stop trying to impress the people who would’ve admired twenty-five-year-old me. Enough to stop comparing my beginning to somebody else’s middle. Enough to understand that almost everything worthwhile compounds way too slowly for impatient people (that’s been a tough one to swallow).
Relationships. Character. Trust. Wisdom. Writing. Health. Businesses.
They’re all investments.
None of them are hacks.
So no, I never really had a midlife crisis.
The old definitions of success just finally lost their grip and I’m finally starting to learn what I want to spend my time on.
If you’re feeling some version of this too, hit reply and tell me what matters more to you now than it did ten years ago. I’d love to hear how this part of life hit others.