The Wisdom Hangover

This week’s been heavier than expected. Maybe it’s because today is my birthday — and birthdays, at least for me, have a way of holding up a mirror.

There’s that familiar voice whispering: shouldn’t you be further along by now? A chorus of “what ifs” and “by this age” comparisons. I used to love birthdays — a full-day permission slip for indulgence. Treat yourself, don’t cheat yourself was the motto. I’d buy something unnecessary, order the dessert, and celebrate my own existence unapologetically.

But this year feels different. If I could, I’d skip the day entirely. I don’t want my age attached to this version of my life — this uncertain chapter that still feels like a draft.

One thing about me: I love a good cry. I think it’s healthy. Cathartic even. There’s nothing more masculine, to me, than being comfortable enough to let emotion out instead of letting it calcify.

So this week, I’ve cried in some odd places: in the elevator, walking to Target, checking the mailbox, mid-run along the Hudson. The tears aren’t dramatic - just these small releases, like pressure valves for everything that’s been building up.

I’ve been fighting this quiet feeling of defeat - the sense that I’ve been working so hard and have so little to show for it. But then, during one of my morning doom-scrolls through LinkedIn (which, by the way, is the healthiest social media platform out there - If you can overlook the “100+ people have applied” notifications that hit like a bad punchline), I came across a post by Dr. Arthur Brooks, the Harvard happiness professor.

And it stopped me in my tracks.

Dr. Brooks writes about how we move from fluid intelligence - the raw, rapid-fire problem-solving energy that defines the first half of life - to crystallized intelligence, which is wisdom, pattern recognition, and meaning-making.

When I read that, I thought: I’m one of those men he’s talking about.

I spent nearly two decades climbing. Producing. Achieving. But lately, something’s been shifting. I’ve felt… unsatisfied. Not because I’ve stopped caring, but because the metrics have changed.

Maybe what I’ve been calling setbacks are actually signals that I’m entering my second curve, the one guided less by ambition and more by purpose.

And maybe all this time I thought I was falling apart, I was really just taking my life down to the studs, the way Dr. Brooks describes.

Since my job was eliminated back in June, I’ve spent more time reflecting than ever before  - sometimes out of necessity, sometimes out of survival. Writing Is This It? every week has become my anchor.

It’s forced me to sit with my thoughts, to name what I’m feeling, to actually make meaning from it all.

And somewhere between the crying and the writing, I’ve realized I’m not starting over… I’m rebuilding on firmer ground.

I’m getting closer to the things that actually matter: being a dad, being a husband, being a friend, being the best version of myself. And maybe most importantly, spending every day on this earth doing work I believe in - the kind that won’t make me look back at 65 and wonder where the years went.

And yet, I still find myself asking… is this it?

Maybe that’s what birthdays are really about - not cake or candles, but checkpoints. A moment to pause, look back, and ask: what have I actually learned?

So this week, instead of pretending I’m fine or manifesting my next big chapter, I made a list. Call it my 20 for 20: twenty things I’d tell my 20-year-old self if I could go back and whisper in his ear between vodka cranberries and bad haircut choices.

1. Move your body because you can, not because you hate how it looks. Motion creates momentum, and momentum quietly builds everything else.

2. Keep your circle small and your standards high. You don’t need a crowd… just a crew that claps when you win and calls you out when you drift.

3. Learn to spot emotional clutter as fast as physical clutter. If a person, habit, or thought drains you, take out the trash.

4. Invest in your mind like it’s a business you plan to keep forever. Books, courses, conversations are like compound interest.

5. Don’t confuse doubt for danger. Sometimes that shaky feeling is just growth putting on its shoes.

6. When people underestimate you, thank them for the free fuel. My motto: “I’ll show ‘em”.

7. Stop chasing parental approval. The life you’re building is the report card now.

8. Say yes before you’re ready. Confidence is built in motion, not imagination.

9. Aim higher, but aim truer. Achievement without alignment is just expensive exhaustion.

10. Find mentors - plural.

11. Write things down. Goals, fears, wild ideas. The page is a mirror that tells the truth.

12. Drink more water, call your doctor back, and for the love of all things holy, stretch. Middle age is coming for your hamstrings.

13. Complain less, recalibrate more. Energy is a currency - spend it on solutions, not stories.

14. Think abundance. There’s always more room, more money, more love… especially when you believe there is.

15. Take rejection personally for five minutes, then take notes. Closed doors make great redirections if you’re paying attention.

16. Walk with faith. Whatever that looks like for you. Some days belief is a prayer, others it’s just getting out of bed.

17. Model success, but remix it. Steal frameworks, not personalities.

18. Go all in. Half-commitment is just a slower way to fail.

19. Rest on purpose. Stillness is strategy. Think of naps as emotional software updates.

20. Remember that none of this is a race. Progress isn’t loud - sometimes it’s just you, quietly becoming who you were meant to be.

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So here I am - 39. Another year older, maybe even a little wiser.

Maybe this is what Dr. Brooks meant by crystallizing. Maybe this list is my proof.

The truth is, this season I’m in is one of the hardest I’ve faced as an adult, but it’s also quietly transformative.

Because even in the uncertainty, I still hear that little voice (the one from rule #7 and #17) whispering: I’ll show ‘em.

And maybe that’s the beginning of the second curve. Not about proving others wrong anymore, but proving to myself that this version of my life, messy as it is, might actually be the one worth celebrating.

The weekly section where I will call out a fraction: something that felt like progress this week (like a fraction forward) and a fiction: something that turned out to be a distraction or illusion. 

🎯 Fraction: I read an article this week about how early exposure to peanuts is reducing the number of kids with allergies. As a dad to a two-year-old who treats peanut butter like a food group, that feels like progress - proof that science (and a few brave pediatricians) are out here doing the Lord’s work, one PB&J at a time.

🎭 Fiction: I’ve tried to steer clear of politics in this space, but this week, the fiction goes to the U.S. government - full stop. The chaos, the theater, the endless distractions… It's exhausting. Most of us are just out here trying to keep our lives together, and yet the people running the show seem hell-bent on reminding us that the circus is still in town.

A quick round-up of clips, headlines or stories, and cultural crumbs that made me pause and ask… is this it?

If this week’s reflection struck a chord, pass it along to three friends who might need a reminder that turning the page isn’t the same as closing the book. The chapters we dread sometimes hold the best plot twists.

Until next Friday,
Chris

P.S. Looking for another good Friday read (after mine, of course)? Check out No Mercy / No Malice - Scott Galloway’s unapologetic take on business, tech, and modern life. Think wisdom with Wi-Fi.