I’ve witnessed the horror of thirty-something’s retiring themselves.
They speak in a past tense. They refer to a time of glory long ago where promise and poise was only offered in their youth, when the stars aligned in their name, and when the God’s favored their quest of fulfillment and happiness most.
These adult children mourn the loss of a former self that had access to less resources, less wisdom, and less experience. Only in their own corrupt minds could they somehow isolate a moment of immaturity and fraudulently pass it off as a version they will sadly never be able to attain again. That is a dog shit way of thinking and completely unacceptable.
That type of programming is a lie. Do not fall prey to its charm, because that makes me angry. And you won’t like me when I’m angry.
People make this false correlation: To age means to become weak and ineffective. When in reality, there is a huge difference between aging and becoming elderly.
People begin to believe their destiny for growth and achievement expired a long time ago. As if the belief in oneself is capped early and that course corrections are a sign of weakness and frailty. They hang up their boots and willingly decay one painful year after another, doing less and less, while having more and more.
You aren’t elderly yet. You aren’t dead yet. Snap out of it.
I feel so strongly about this because I had to pull myself out of retirement, just like I’m suggesting you to do. I was twenty-four when my professional soccer career ended for reasons within my control and it was a life shattering moment for me. I had worked my entire life for an opportunity that I squandered and lost because I didn’t want to do the work at the most crucial moment possible. When I lost that opportunity, I gave up. I retired myself.
Under the span of a decade, I stopped physical training, I drank an insane amount, I over-ate, and felt cocksure this was what one does when they retire. As if I had earned this level of suffering and deserved this type of erosion. I wore my fat puffy face, soft belly, and neglectful appearance as a badge of honor. Yet, no one else recognized those attributes as a medal of honor except me…and I was lying to myself about it.
It wasn’t until many years later that I became disgusted with my own premature retirement and pulled myself out of it. I pulled it together, peeled back the bullshit of my life, and decide on one thing: ACTION.
All I had to do was take action every day. I did it with mileage, I ran. I didn’t know how it would help. I didn’t know when it would help, but I prayed with my legs.
But at what cost? TIME.
I got my health back. I got my physique back. I got a renewed sense of life. I felt resurrected from the embers and ash, and was now a force to be reckoned with, but the only thing I couldn’t get back, the only thing that I had irreversibly and irreparably lost, was time.
Don’t retire yourself – it’s not worth the time.