Two lives

There’s a saying attributed to Confucius that’s cuts through any deep analysis of the phenomenon popularly known as the mid-life crisis: “We have two lives, and the second begins when we realize we have only one.” For what it’s worth, I think it’s lazy and reductive to describe as a “mid-life crisis” the actions of someone who realizes they’ve crested the hill of life and are beginning the accelerating descent to oblivion. Time’s ticking. Provided you’re not being callous or destructive in acting on that realization, what’s the problem?

Well, of course, there are problems, but they’re nothing to do with potentially looking like what people dismiss as a cliche (“she’s way older than my daughter, and I’ve always loved red sports cars!”). The bigger problems involve the way options narrow over time and where that leaves your ability to pivot later in life.

First, of course, age inherently limits what you can do. At 50, I may be physically the strongest I’ve ever been but that doesn’t mean I can become a Formula One driver. Or dust off my adolescent dreams of winning Wimbledon. The sun has set on careers for the young.

Second, lanes close simply by living your life. Becoming a parent, for example, largely eliminates being carefree and spontaneous—no more spur-of-the-moment long weekends—at least for a long while. And on the professional side, you’re acquiring skills and building a career, but that not only typically narrows your field of expertise but leaves you believing there’s nothing else you’re good at—or, at least, you don’t have the time to make a meaningful change and get good at something else.

Yet it’s the third issue that I struggle with most because, while it’s the one with the most potential for change, it requires self-examination, the humility to admit you screwed up, and the courage to act. I’m talking about constraints resulting from compromises big and small that often seem logical at the time, but have pulled you away from the path you know, deep down, you should be on (or, even worse, you may not have realized you should be on). I suspect it’s these decisions that weigh most on the minds of both men and women others deride as having a crisis—they’re trying to course correct, and it’s messy.

The sports car cliche is a classic example. Yes, there may be an element of recapturing some kind of youthful vitality. But I also think there’s a big slice of people simply wanting what they’ve always wanted—before kids and monster SUVs or minivans interceded—and they now have the means to make it happen. I recently met a happily-married-with-kids attorney in her 50s who just got a jet black Porsche Carrera 911 GTS (the base model starts at $150,900)—her husband proudly boasted, “It’s her dream car.”

Of course, that’s a happy example. This category is more typically full of tough, tough issues with no clear answers, many resulting from compromises compounding to a point where someone suddenly realizes, ‘This isn’t what I wanted.” It could be your career, where you live, where you vacation, or who you socialize with (or don’t). At a deeper, more perilous, level, it could be who you’re with—and lots of couples make yet another compromise at this point by doubling down. That’s easy to justify intellectually given the sheer volume of factors at play (children being the most obvious and important), as well as the shoulder shrug that often accompanies the thought you’ve made your bed and have to lie in it. But how healthy is a relationship status of “simmering resentment”?

There’s no denying the dangers of assuming the grass may be greener, both personally and professionally. But … but … what if it is? You only get one shot at this precious thrill ride and if you have the luxury of considering changes that may alter your life’s trajectory, you’re in a more fortunate position than most. I’m all for extending what Peter Attia calls “healthspan,” but even he notes it has to be the kind of life you actually want to lead, rather than just existing while lugging around a big bag of regrets.

It’s not easy, but it’s also not a “crisis.” Some are pushing to rebrand this period as something like a “midlife calling” or “a chrysalis”—a time of magical transformation, not a disastrous mistake (there’s a similarly worthy effort to rebrand divorce, ditching suggestions of “failure” or “broken” homes).

“It’s a liberating feeling when you finally accept that you no longer have to define the second half of your life based on someone else’s definition of success,” says Chip Conley, the long-time entrepreneur who’s founded the Modern Elder Academy to help mid-lifers navigate the period when “when we begin to understand what is truly important and focus on recalibrating and designing the life we want to live.”

I love this idea. Confucius was onto something when it comes to the catalyst for midlife reassessment, but it’s what happens afterwards that matters. I love Hunter S. Thompson’s famous quote declaring life “should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming ‘Wow! What a ride!’"

Yet much more profound is his letter to friend Hume Logan, especially considering Thompson was just 22 years old (!) when he penned it. The crux of his argument is a man should swim, not float, and not to reach a pre-defined goal but to achieve “a way of life he KNOWS he will enjoy. The goal is absolutely secondary: it is the functioning toward the goal which is important.”

“It is not necessary to accept the choices handed down to you by life as you know it,” Thompson writes. “There is more to it than that—no one HAS to do something he doesn’t want to do for the rest of his life. But then again, if that’s what you wind up doing, by all means convince yourself that you HAD to do it. You’ll have lots of company.”

Giddy-up.