Double Nickels
At 55, I’m not celebrating having life figured out. I’m celebrating permission to finally live it.
When I was younger, I thought people who turned 55 had life figured out.
They knew who they were.
They had answers.
They had clarity.
They were living the dream, achieving the goals, and standing somewhere in the distance like the sage of the generation.
At least that’s how it looked from where I was standing.
Now that I’m turning 55, I realize something.
I do not have life figured out.
And what surprises me most is that I’m finally starting to be okay with that.
What surprises me even more is how quickly I got here.
Because somewhere along the way, life stopped being something I was experiencing and became something I was managing.
Not because I didn’t care about life.
Because life needed things from me.
Responsibilities.
Expectations.
People.
Problems.
Needs.
And I became useful.
The dependable one.
The one who showed up.
The one who figured things out.
The one who knew how to make things better.
The one people called when they needed perspective.
The one people leaned on.
The one who was asked what he could do to help.
Rarely the one who was asked how he was doing.
I was taught that good men provide.
Good men sacrifice.
Good men take care of the family.
Good men put their needs last.
And to be fair, that mindset served me for a long time.
It helped me build a career.
It helped me support people I love.
It helped me survive difficult seasons.
But what serves you in one season can quietly imprison you in another.
Because eventually I became so focused on being useful that I stopped asking what it meant to be present.
I spent a lot of time being useful. I am still learning how to be present.
For years, I thought maturity meant becoming more responsible.
At 55, I’m beginning to wonder if part of maturity is becoming more alive.
Not arrival. Awakening.
Gratitude
I am deeply grateful for this phase of my life.
Not because everything is perfect.
It isn’t.
But because I am finally giving myself permission to make my health a priority.
For a long time, I lived in production mode.
Do the thing.
Handle the issue.
Be available.
Keep going.
Be responsible.
Be strong.
And that mindset helped me survive a lot.
But survival and living are not the same thing.
When you’ve been in production mode long enough, rest can feel suspicious.
Joy can feel unproductive.
Free time can feel confusing.
A quiet afternoon can feel like something is being neglected.
I am grateful that I am learning something different now.
I am learning that uncertainty is not always a threat.
I am learning that not having everything figured out does not mean I am failing.
I am learning that my health matters before crisis.
I am learning that my life deserves my attention too.
That is not small.
That is a gift.
The Part Health Helped Me See
One of the biggest surprises of this health journey is that I didn’t realize how badly I felt until I started feeling better.
That’s a strange thing to admit.
When you’re tired long enough, tired becomes normal.
When you’re carrying enough responsibility, pressure becomes normal.
When you’re always producing, performing, and presenting, you stop noticing how much energy it takes.
I grew up hearing things like:
“You can rest when you’re dead.”
If I sat down too long, someone wanted to know when I was getting back up.
If I looked idle, there was probably another task waiting.
Rest wasn’t modeled.
Productivity was.
Usefulness was.
Responsibility was.
So when my health started improving, something unexpected happened.
It created space.
And I realized I didn’t know what to do with it.
For years, I thought getting healthier meant improving my body and moving on with my life.
Now I understand something different.
Getting healthier is helping me unlock a life I still have to learn how to live.
I know how to work.
I know how to carry things.
I know how to solve problems.
I know how to keep going.
I am still learning how to simply be.
And that has been harder than I expected.
What I didn’t expect was that getting healthier would expose how much of my life had been spent surviving.
Now I have more room.
More energy.
More awareness.
More possibility.
And I’m realizing those things require learning too.
Because for a long time, usefulness became identity.
Now presence is becoming identity.
And that transition feels both beautiful and unfamiliar.
Release
At 55, there are some things I no longer want to carry the same way.
The need to be right.
The need to have all the answers.
The need to follow everyone else’s lead.
The need to do what is expected simply because it is expected.
The need to be regimented all the time.
The need to complete every challenge, follow every trend, and live under everyone else’s definition of progress.
The need to be perfect.
Some of those things once felt like protection.
If I knew enough, I couldn’t be caught off guard.
If I helped enough, I could stay needed.
If I performed well enough, maybe no one would see where I was struggling.
But I’m learning that what protected me in one season can weigh me down in another.
And some things do not belong in this next chapter.
Not because they were useless.
Because they are heavy.
Discovery
One of the biggest surprises of this season is realizing that I have a voice.
That sounds simple.
But it has taken me a long time to believe it.
I spent years listening, helping, supporting, mentoring, teaching, and making room for other people’s thoughts.
Somewhere along the way, I underestimated my own.
I am surprised that people listen to what I have to say.
More than that, I am surprised that my voice matters.
Not because I doubted my intelligence.
Because I spent so much of my life amplifying other people’s needs that I never fully appreciated the value of my own perspective.
I am surprised that my words resonate.
I am surprised that the things I thought were just messy thoughts in my head could become something meaningful for someone else.
And I am learning something about impostor syndrome.
Maybe impostor syndrome does not always mean you are unqualified.
Sometimes it means you have more insight, wisdom, and capacity than you have allowed yourself to own.
People who truly have nothing to offer rarely spend this much time wondering if they belong.
That realization has been humbling.
And freeing.
Permission
This may be the biggest gift 55 has given me.
Permission.
Permission to release the shame of living with a chronic disease.
Permission to stop treating my diagnosis like proof that I failed.
Permission to live in a larger body without believing I owe the world an apology.
Permission to not have all the answers.
Permission to not answer every question.
Permission to stop being nice in ways that are more performative than honest.
Permission to be worthy of love, honor, respect, and care before I have everything figured out.
That last one is still tender.
Because when you’ve spent much of your life being the strong one, receiving care can feel unfamiliar.
When you’re used to being the person people lean on, it can feel strange to admit that you need support too.
But I am learning.
Slowly.
Awkwardly.
Honestly.
I do not have to earn care by being useful.
I do not have to earn rest by being exhausted.
I do not have to earn respect by being perfect.
I do not have to perform strength to be worthy of softness.
The Years Go Faster Than You Think
How many people wake up one day and wonder where the years went?
How many people are surprised to find themselves at 50?
55?
60?
65?
70?
How many people spend years waiting for life to begin after the next promotion, the next milestone, the next responsibility, the next season?
How many people look back and think:
I should have rested more.
I should have laughed more.
I should have worried less.
I should have spent more time with the people I loved.
Very few people wish they had answered a few more emails.
Very few people wish they had carried a little more stress.
Very few people wish they had been harder on themselves.
Many of us feel guilty for taking an afternoon off.
Guilty for resting.
Guilty for doing something that serves no purpose beyond bringing us joy.
Maybe that’s part of what I’m learning at 55.
Life is not something that starts after all the responsibilities are finished.
Life is what happens while we’re carrying them.
Intention
From here, I want to live more in the moment.
Not someday.
Not after the weight is gone.
Not after the labs are perfect.
Not after I become some imagined version of myself who has finally arrived.
Now.
I want to give up the need to be there for everyone else at the expense of myself.
I want to learn life on life’s terms.
I want to appreciate the sunshine and the rain.
Because both have taught me.
The sunshine reminds me that joy is possible.
The rain reminds me that I can endure.
Maybe that is why I find myself reconnecting with pieces of my youth.
Not because I am trying to go backward.
Because I am trying to recover wonder.
Curiosity.
Play.
The parts of me that existed before life became a list of responsibilities.
Some people may call that childish.
I call it childlike.
And I think there is a difference.
One avoids reality.
The other helps us experience it.
At 55, I thought I would be celebrating certainty.
Instead, I am celebrating permission.
Permission to stop performing a life and start living one.
Permission to stop being everything for everyone else and become someone who is also present for himself.
Permission to be unfinished.
Permission to be cared for.
Permission to keep learning.
Permission to let my health support my life instead of becoming another performance of who I am supposed to be.
I am grateful for this phase.
Not because it is perfect.
Because it is honest.
Because it is mine.
Because I am still here.
Still learning.
Still becoming.
Still finding my way back to myself.
Because the truth is, I don’t know how many birthdays I have left.
None of us do.
What I know is this:
I don’t want to spend the next chapter waiting for life to begin.
I want to participate in it.
Right now.
With the body I have.
With the lessons I’ve learned.
With the uncertainty that remains.
With the wonder I’m rediscovering.
Because after all these years, I think I’m finally understanding something.
Life was never waiting for me at the destination.
It was happening the entire time.
A Closer Place to Land
If this reflection resonated, the paid tier offers a closer, more conversational layer of support.
It’s where these conversations continue with a little more room to breathe.
Less pressure to have answers.
More space to explore the questions.
The Messy Middle has never been about arriving perfectly
Reader Reflection
What is something you thought you would have figured out by now that you are still learning?
What burden are you ready to put down before your next birthday?
What are you finally giving yourself permission to live, feel, release, or become?
Love this piece/reflection. This line particularly resonated with me, "life stopped being something I was experiencing and became something I was managing." Especially as I try to find ways to live life!
Happy 55th, Birthday Brotha! Enjoy your day!
Happy birthday, friend. This reflection hit hard. Thank you for processing and sharing openly with us. May we all be open to the possibilities of living in the now from here on out.