I’m in my late 30’s and have quietly given up on these 6 things

I’m in my late 30s and the most interesting change isn’t what I started. That’s what I didn’t care about anymore.

Not in a dramatic way. I didn’t sit down to write a list. Things have slowly lost their grip as some of the tracks you used to love no longer appear in rotation. You don’t get to decide when you’re done with them. One day you notice they are gone.

Here are six of them.

To tell the truth in small disputes

When I was younger, I had a strong desire to be right. Especially in conversations with my siblings, old friends, and anyone close enough to hold it back. I would dig into it. I would find the angle. I want the other person to come around to my point of view, ideally while admitting that I was right all along.

These days I notice that the urge comes and then fades.

It’s not that I became wise. I’ve seen enough of these arguments end the same way. Either both people let it go quietly, or someone says something they regret. Either way, the relationship is a bit worse, and the truth wasn’t at stake. In general, I only defended the version of myself that must be right.

I don’t lose anything by letting this go. Conversation becomes a little easier. My wife and I argue less.

Whether or not I keep up with others my age

A few years ago, I saw someone who, at my age, bought a house, sold a company, ran a marathon, wrote a book, and felt what I now recognize as mild panic. It’s like I missed a race I didn’t sign up for.

I don’t really feel that anymore.

Some of them have been running our business with my brothers long enough to see that other people’s timelines have nothing to do with mine. Part of it is that he has a young daughter who doesn’t care about any of this. Part of it is just aging. You see quite a few people hit that milestone they thought would change everything, and then a month later they’re back to the same daily mood and the whole frame wears off.

There is no tempo. Today there is only what you actually do.

He has an informed opinion on everything in the news

I’m most proud of the news that I let go.

For most of my 20s and early 30s, I felt a sense of duty to learn about everything. Tech, markets, politics, cultural argument of the week. In the morning, I read the headlines, took a position, and did a brief research on the world.

I didn’t care for most, not because the news didn’t matter, but because I noticed how rarely those opinions changed what I did. I freaked out over something I had no control over, I spend the afternoon confused and don’t think about it for a year. It was just a weight I voluntarily took on.

I’m still reading. I just don’t feel like I owe it to the world to see everything. Most days, I’d rather know one thing well than half-formed twenty.

It seems fertile

For a long time, I confused busyness with usefulness. I had a packed calendar, a long to-do list, and a small sense of virtue about how much I had accomplished.

What I actually finished was often less than what I’m doing now in half an hour.

What I no longer cared about was the appearance of the work. The performance of this. The need to appear as someone who is always present. When I’m with my daughter, I’m with my daughter. When I work, I work in long, quiet stretches and then stop. When I run the river in the morning, my phone stays at home.

It’s a quieter life than the one I played in my early thirties. It also produces more.

Friendships I kept alive out of guilt

It took longer to admit it.

There are people I’ve known for years that I felt I needed to keep in touch with. Some are good people. Some of them I just had a lot of history in common with. Either way, when I realized how little I actually looked forward to the next catch up, I started to ease up.

Not in a cold way. I would still answer. I would still see them if they were in town. I stopped taking the initiative to keep the friendship on life support.

It turns out that many friendships have a natural lifespan, and that their longevity beyond useful years is mostly a sham. The friendships I still put real time into are the ones I feel better about afterward. I have less of them than I previously thought I needed.

What do people who barely know me think of me?

This is what surprised me the most.

In my 20s, I was constantly attuned to how I was perceived. From people on the internet, from people I’ve met once, from people whose opinion of me doesn’t affect my life in any way. I would replay little interactions in my head. I would worry about what someone thought when I said the wrong thing at a dinner party.

Now I mostly don’t even notice.

It’s not confidence, exactly. I think I only slowly realized who I really belonged to. My wife. my daughter. My brothers. A small handful of friends. Some colleagues whose work I respect. This list is shorter than I ever imagined, and frankly, the rest of the world doesn’t have access to me anyway.

None of this came from a decision. I’m not old enough to decide what to put down. They just became quieter on their own.

I think there will be more of them in my 40s.