Midlife is where 97% of people settle.
Here's how the 3% turn crisis into clarity.
🎧 Prefer to listen to my calming voice? Play the 4-min audio version above.👆
The phrase “midlife crisis” makes most people dry heave.
But I’d argue crisis isn’t unusual — it’s the default setting of midlife.
Accept that, and you finally have leverage to play with.
Midlife is a meme you didn’t ask to be in.
You know what I mean:
Have an affair with anyone who accidentally brushes your arm.
Buy a daft sports car you can’t fit the kids in.
Sign up for a triathlon even though you can’t swim and you hate people wearing cycling shorts.
Install Ableton because you’re going to finally be a DJ.
Obsessively measure out your daily creatine and collagen. Strap on your weighted vest. Ignore your family while checking Instagram.
Get a bad leather jacket, or a bad sleeve tattoo, and start microdosing Ozempic.
Start to think ‘those Skechers do look comfy’
Or is that last one just me?
Schrödinger’s Midlife™
Midlife is Schrödinger’s box.
Like the little cat inside, you exist in multiple states.
You’re dead, you’re alive.
Your body weakens, your sense of self hardens.
You’re at parents’ evening on Tuesday and a crematorium on Friday.
You’re stockpiling supplements for eternal life while Googling how to write your will.
You’re trapped by responsibility, liberated by finally not giving a fuck.
You’ve outgrown the person you used to pretend to be, but you don’t know who’s left.
The secret lies in embracing the paradox and learning to live in the contradiction.
Because a midlife crisis isn’t something you have to do. It’s something you get to do (if you’re lucky).
And if you can carry the weight for long enough — the mess, the humour, the scars, the grief, the absurdity — you can turn it into fuel.
It starts to become a nourishing, hearty, premium broth that feeds your next chapter.
It’s Midlife Soup™.
No, sorry you can’t send it back — it’s the only dish on the menu.
You can’t avoid a midlife crisis.
It’s the final rite of passage.
(Unless we’re counting death).
And inside it sits the raw material of your life:
The things you swore you’d do. The distractions you chose instead.
The nights you felt immortal. The nights you’d rather forget.
The burnt bridges. The friends that stuck around.
Parents fading, kids selfishly refusing to not grow up.
The versions of yourself left in other people’s memories.
The childhood you never really left. The adult you never really became.
The unanswered texts. The photos you can’t lose. The inside jokes. The ghosts in your bones.
The one that got away.
The thrills, pills, and bellyaches.
The boredom, and the freedom, and the time spent alone.
The how the fuck am I this old?
The is this it?
If you can make friends with the midlife paradox — it starts to reveal who you are, what you actually want, and what you can let go.
Most people will flinch and look away. Or do something stupid.
But if you embrace it, you stop living on autopilot. You waste less time chasing distractions. You see truths others can’t.
You move through midlife with an unfair advantage.
Where they see crisis, you’ve found clarity. While they chase endings, you’ve found leverage.
That’s the Anti-Midlife mindset.
P.S. If you want a hand carrying the weight, that’s what I do 1:1.