At sixty-something, I find myself in a peculiar position: I am gainfully employed, active, and navigating a world where many my age are either retreating into retirement or grappling with the turmoil of uncertainty. By all traditional metrics, I should be content. Yet, as I log on to the computer or join the morning commute, a persistent whisper follows me: 'You are being wasted here.' It’s an uncomfortable admission. We are taught to be grateful for the grind, to find solace in the routine, and to live for the hard-earned 'Shangri-La' of a weekend away. But I’ve come to realize that a different location is just a new backdrop for the same old habits. The itch I’m feeling isn’t for a holiday; it’s for a life that actually ticks. Not the ticking of a clock counting down the hours until Friday, but the steady beat of something worthy—a life measured by my own standards of happiness and genuine rest, rather than just professional endurance.
We’ve all had those moments—standing on a foreign balcony or walking through a quiet, sun-drenched village—where we think, 'This is it. If I lived here, I’d be whole.' We call it Shangri-La. We imagine that a change in scenery would magically dissolve the 'wasted' feeling we carry in our briefcase.
But as I’ve reached my late sixties, the veil has lifted on that fantasy. I’ve realised that if I moved to paradise tomorrow, I’d likely find a way to turn it into a checklist. I’d find a way to make the sunset a routine and the ocean breeze a commute. The hard truth is that we carry our 'clocks' with us. If we haven't decided what makes our lives worthy, we will simply spend our days doing the same restless dance in a more expensive pair of shoes. To truly think 'outside the box,' I have to stop looking at the map and start looking at the calendar of my own past.
The "Life-Tick" Audit
To help my readers (and myself) find those moments of genuine worth, here are four questions to filter through your history:
- The "Flow" State
When was the last time you were doing something and completely forgot to check the time? Was it a craft, a conversation, a specific type of problem-solving, or being in nature?
The Goal: Identify activities where you lose your "work-day" ego.
- The Energy Exchange
Look back at your last three years. Which activities left you feeling "good tired" (satisfied exhaustion) versus "bad tired" (drained and empty)?
The Goal: Distinguish between productive effort and soul-sapping labour.
- The "Free Gift" Test
If you were told you never had to work for money again, but you had to leave the house for four hours a day to do something useful, where would you go?
The Goal: Strip away the "I have to" and find the "I want to."
- The Standards of Rest
Think of your best day off. Was it a "rush" to see sights, or was it a moment of "genuine rest"? What were the specific ingredients of that rest?
The Goal: Define what "recharging" actually looks like for you, free from the pressure of "making the most of the holiday.
The Calendar of my Life
The Boxing Ring and the Fork in the Road
"To understand what makes a life 'tick,' I find myself looking back fifty years to a primary school playground. I was eleven, and my daily routine was dictated by a boy named Paul Kurt Panton Chapman. He was a bully who made my nose his favourite target, until the day I finally landed a punch of my own.
The retaliation was swift. Paul’s brother was a boxer, and Paul had the technique to match. In our 'rematch' after school, he knocked me down in less than ten seconds. But strangely, that violence forged a temporary friendship. We were two boys in the same neighbourhood, breathing the same air, yet our paths were already diverging.
I recently read of Paul’s death on Facebook. It was a jolt to the system. Paul was a 'bad lad'—drugs, jail, even breaking into my parents' home. Yet, he was brilliant. He had a mathematical mind that could have solved complex problems, but he chose a different kind of routine—one of chaos and consequence.
At sixteen, I joined the Royal Navy, traded my school uniform for a sailor’s suit, and stepped into a world of discipline and horizons. Paul stayed behind, locked into a path he couldn't seem to escape. Now, fifty years later, I am still working, still 'in the ring,' while he is gone.
The Lesson of the "Wrong Path"
Thinking of Paul makes me realise that being 'wasted' in a job is a high-class problem compared to a life wasted by addiction or crime. But it also highlights a sobering truth: Life is a series of routines. Paul had his routine. I have mine.
The brilliance Paul possessed in mathematics didn't save him because his routine didn't serve his soul. As I sit at my computer today, I have to ask myself: Am I honouring the fact that I survived? Am I using the 'brilliance' I have left, or am I simply repeating a routine because it’s the only one I know?
I am no longer that eleven-year-old boy getting knocked down in ten seconds. I have the power to stand up and choose a different fight.
When the Routine Had a Pulse
For twenty-eight years, my life didn't just tick; it roared.
In the Royal Navy, routine wasn't a dirty word. It was the camaraderie of the mess deck, the adrenaline of working on helicopters and fast jets, and the pride of earning medals and respect. Every day told a different story. I wasn't just 'working'; I was becoming. I married, raised a family, and reached the top of my rank. I even found myself leading the stewardship at Wimbledon, managing the delicate machinery of the All England Club.
In those years, I knew exactly what I was: a leader, an expert, a comrade.
But when I walked away from the Navy, I didn't realise I was leaving more than a pay check behind. I lost the 'box' I fit into so perfectly. I traded the flight deck for an office, and the roar of the jets for the hum of a computer fan. For years since, I have been trying to find that same sense of worth in a world that feels quiet, individualistic, and—to be honest—a bit hollow and the people …mostly shallow.
Finding a New Mission
This brings me back to my late sixties and that question: 'What can I do?'
Perhaps the reason I feel 'wasted' today is that I am trying to apply a civilian solution to a veteran’s heart. I’m looking for 'satisfaction' when what I actually crave is purpose.
Paul, my childhood bully, lost his way because he never found a routine worthy of his brilliance. I found mine in the Navy, and now, in this 'Third Act' of my life, I am tasked with finding it again. It won't be on a flight deck or at Centre Court, but it has to be somewhere 'outside the box' of this current 9-to-5 existence.
I’m beginning to realize that laying these thoughts to rest doesn't mean stopping. It means starting something that makes me feel like that sixteen-year-old sailor again—ready for a story worth telling.
(#Resilience, #Royal Navy, #NewBeginnings)
Poem
I feel the heaviness of growing old
Memories of school days haunt my mind
Have I achieved, I wonder of all tales told
Meeting bullies, not so kind
I live for today now, I count my blessings
I'm still wanted at least that's my thoughts
But those 28 years of Naval Messing's
Outweigh the boy who fought in shorts
I am employed to audit, in a business sense
Questioning and answering - say what you do
I sit on meetings that grow intense
Wishing I was with my Naval crew
I write, I read, I am sometimes alone
The top three pastimes, according to some
I strive to find the one free zone
Must be found before my mojo has gone