Hey uguba ndubuisi, hope you're having a relaxing weekend.
What Comes Next?
My mom enjoyed the simple pleasures of the beach – the warmth of the sun invigorating your body, the salty wind blowing through your hair, and the feeling of freedom that emerges when you sink your toes in the sand.
She understood that beach life is the great equalizer.
All you need is a few scraps of clothing and a cheerful spirit to have a good time. Beach life does not give two cents about what you have or how successful you are. All external markers of achievement fade away the moment you hit the sand.
Life on the beach isn't about where you're going; it's about where you are right now. And if you can't enjoy where you are right now, you won't have a good time at the beach.
Shortly after my mom died, I moved to a beach town and started surfing.
Being near the ocean made me feel close to her. Seeing dolphins play in the waves reminded me of her free spirit. Getting tossed around reminded me of her journey through life. Surfing gave me a way to stay connected with my mom in the absence of her physical presence.
I now walk to the beach on most mornings. As I adjust to the reality of yet another day of life, I observe what's going on around me – the morning surfers, the state of the ocean, the smiles of people sipping their morning coffee. It's the best part of my day.
I also observe my inner state. Am I serene like a beach bum comfortable with his present reality, or am I a disgruntled banker who just finished a 120-hour work week? These days, it's been more the latter.
The big question that's on mind: What's next?
I'm approaching my 30th year of existence. Last year, I took a break from my startup career to write a book. Once that's done, I have no plans. These days, that lack of clarity is weighing on me.
Anyone who knows where I started will tell me that I've "made it." For the most part, I believe them. But there's been a surprising danger in "making it" too early. Moderate success, coupled with the absence of my mom, has dampened the youthful zest that drove my ambition in life.
It's hard for me to chase external markers of success or lose myself to the grind. That's what got me to this point, but it seems so hollow now.
At the same time, I'm too young to relax and sit around drinking margaritas all day. I've tried that. It's even worse than letting ambition consume you. There's a painful malaise to leading a life in which you're not pursing something that you're convinced is genuinely meaningful.
Generally, I enjoy having no idea where I'll be five years from now. Whenever I see the path too clearly, I know it's time to make a change. It's time to re-introduce chaos into the order of life. It's the beginning of the painful, yet glorious process of reinvention.
At least that's been my approach so far.
But I'm now wondering if that constant pursuit of chaos and reinvention is what I need on the next leg of the journey. Perhaps it's time to settle down and get comfortable with a path that's more defined.
For most of my life, providing for my mom and escaping the financial instability of my youth were my core drivers. They motivated me to wake up every day and work as hard as I could to change my outer world.
But things are different now. My mom is gone, and for the most part, I feel like I won't ever live in the world of scarcity that defined most of my life.
I'm left with a void.
I still feel like a little boy who can lose everything at any moment. The voice in my head tells me I need to keep fighting to survive. I'm not sure if I'll ever escape that feeling. The scars of my youth are burned into my soul.
Life often shakes me awake at 3am. It reminds me not to get too comfortable. There's another series of punches coming my way. For all that's changed in my inner and outer world, it still feels like nothing has changed at all.
I'm perpetually stuck between two worlds – do I pursue the relentless path of growth cherished by entrepreneurs, or do I learn to sit mindfully in the inescapable discomfort of life like the Buddhists?
I'm sure the answer lies somewhere between those two approaches.
For all that I've learned, life still feels like a half-finished puzzle. I wake up every day and look for the missing pieces. Sometimes I find them. Many times I don't. I ride the highs and lows of the daily effort to finish the puzzle. I keep going because I know deep down that life will come together if I just find those last few pieces. That's when I will feel complete.
But no matter how hard I try, I never quite finish the damn puzzle. At the moment I'm about to place the final piece and complete the picture, something changes.
I'm out in the surf about to catch the wave of my life, and a rogue set rolls in and holds me under. As I thrash around in the washing machine of nature, I cover my head and hope that I can hold my breath long enough to resurface. I pray that I don't hit the reef or suffer a blow that whacks me unconscious and teaches me just how fragile life can be.
When I resurface in the foamy madness of the ocean, I slowly remember where I am. I feel a brief moment of relief that I'm still alive. As I try to re-orient myself to the puzzle that I've been working on, I realize that the whole scene has changed.
I'm back at the starting line.
At first, I'm disheartened to lose all of the progress. I was so damn close. But then I feel the tide start to change. The excitement of beginning a new puzzle infuses my soul with energy. I'm scared that I will fail, but I find the courage to begin again anyway.
As I get started on the new puzzle, I believe that maybe I'll finally learn something about who I am, why I'm here, and what I want.
Enduring enough of these cycles has taught me that life is not a puzzle to be completed. It's a pendulum that swings between joy and sorrow, bliss and pain, courage and fear. Everything is in constant flux.
Solving one problem breeds another. Nothing ever comes together in the way that I dream about. The puzzle will never be finished. The pendulum keeps swinging, and my job is to find a way to hold on the whole time.
No matter how far I've come, there is no stable ground to stand on in life. Stability is an illusion. The only way forward is to accept where I am and to find the strength to take another step.
The chaos and order of life continue to confuse me.
They merge in a way that I'll never fully understand. I've realized that no matter what I do, I'll never been entirely satisfied or permanently bitter.
If I've learned anything in these first 30 years, it's that there are no guarantees in life. There is no end state in which I will feel the equanimity I have always been chasing. There is no moment in which the unbearable pain of existence will catapult me off the precipice forever.
On some days, the sun will shine over calm waters. On other days, storm clouds will scream over a choppy ocean. That's life.
It seems that the only reliable path forward is to continue the process of internal and external re-invention that's led me to this moment. That means orienting my efforts toward meaning, growth, achievement, healing, and connection.
To turn away from these pillars of life would be to accept death before it has come. Pursuing them may be a trivial exercise of trying to hold on to something in a world that is nothing but fleeting.
But the prize is worth it.
For brief moments, I may feel fully alive. And that's about as good as it gets.
Thanks for tuning in, and see you in two weeks.
Cheers,
Cal
