There are two times a year that cause me to take stock: New Years and the unstoppable, annual birthday. It’s not New Years. Don’t start singing yet… it’s still two months away, but I just received a letter from Social Security outlining my benefits options. Good lord.
In some ways I’m in sheer disbelief that this time of life is upon me. That period you hear much (much) older people talking about: retirement. I don’t feel anything like what I envisioned a retired person to be. In your twenties and thirties, you know it’s coming but it is sooooooo far away you don’t give it much thought—you just know you need to prepare wisely and plan accordingly. In your 40s the realization is: you’re not in your 30s anymore. The 50s brings into focus that you’re knocking on the door of 60. It’s the next decade. And time is flying. And then…the door creaks open.
Honestly, I’ve never quite understood retirement for people in their 60s, let alone “early retirement” for people in their 50s. Even as a child, I didn’t grasp why people would simply stop working. It didn’t make sense to me. My dad was 53 when I was born, and he “retired” from the Army as a Lt. Colonel a year later. I have fragmented memories from childhood of him working as a salesman for a chemical supply company, although he spoke often and fondly about the Army. I wondered how he landed in his job; it didn’t have anything to do with his military experience, or his Stanford master’s degree in metallurgical engineering. I can’t say whether he enjoyed it or not; I was a child and my Dad was a stoic person. He could have loathed it for all I know, but from outward appearances he seemed content.
When I was about 8 or so, he quit his job to work with my mom, who had started a foil stamping printing business in our converted garage. The majority of my childhood memories are of my parents working long hours and weekends, toiling in a small business. It outgrew our home and they moved into a nearby business park, with my dad dutifully wearing many hats, as most small business owners do. While I was in college, they reached a point where my mom wanted to expand the business but my dad was resistant. His memory was slipping, yet he refused to stay home, and this caused too many problems to ignore. Instead of wrestling with him, she sold the business she birthed and walked away.
In a serendipitous parallel, my husband, Andrea, and I have owned a small business and worked together for over 25 years. Our core business was entertainment design, mostly destination experiences, much of it international. Without going into the really ugly weeds, the lockdowns three years ago decimated the tourism industry for a long enough period of time to destroy a small business that largely relied on tourism projects. It was a hard pill to swallow. We were about three years into the lease of our dream studio—a much larger, more well-equipped space than we had been in for the prior ten years—that we designed to be our perfect workspace. We tried to limp along, but little by little, our band aids were torn off. We sold most of our equipment, threw away decades of work, packed what we could take home, and relinquished a jewel of a studio.
The second curve
Although it was providential timing in hindsight, it certainly felt far from a blessing in the moment. As the dust was clearing and the inevitable was emerging, it was jarringly surreal. I think we were both a little shellshocked at how quickly the bedrock of our life had crumbled. How 30 years of work, relationships, and contacts suddenly were barren. For a while we cobbled together enough small projects to sustain the business, but for a variety of reasons it became clear that would not be a viable path. Nor could we go back to our previous business model of complex projects that required large teams. We drifted into the doldrums.
Enter Arthur C. Brooks life-changing book, “From Strength to Strength.”
I’m not prone to hyperbole but this book was a godsend. I don’t remember precisely on whose podcast I first heard Mr. Brooks interviewed—sorry, podcast hosts—but there were several interviews I caught as he made the rounds for his book launch. With each discussion, his words struck a deep, resonating chord. It was one of those rare instances of “right place, right moment.” Andrea loves thought-provoking books, and with our anniversary approaching, my sense was that it was just what he would most appreciate and need.
The subtitle of “From Strength to Strength” is “Finding Success, Happiness, and Deep Purpose in the Second Half of Life.” Hmmmmm. Second half of life. Well, that’s certainly the space we had crossed into… and unfortunately it felt as if we had left success, (some) happiness, and deep purpose behind.
One of the first things that struck me about the book’s precept as unusual was the notion of finding success and deep purpose in the second half of life. That isn’t the conventional mindset. Society has molded many people into accepting that energy and zeal are for the young, and that come a certain age, you relax and live out your remaining years learning to throw a clay pot and babysitting grandkids. Which actually doesn’t sound too bad for a month or so… but at the beginning of our second half of life, when we actually were faced with the unexpected need to rebuild, this encouraging, hopeful—and frankly unlikely—message of success and purpose was exactly what we needed to hear.
Harvard professor and social scientist Arthur Brooks is a breath of fresh air with his unique and wise perspective. His in-depth research provides a great insight into the key characteristics of happy people and the nature of success. In the book, he not only identifies several inherent traits that prevent many of us from fully living in this second curve, but also outlines how to cultivate the new strengths that we will need to navigate it. We were in desperate need of his encouraging admonition that “decline is not a tragedy, but rather an opportunity for success.”
Crystalized knowledge
While we certainly were not declining in abilities, I did think we had plateaued and I knew there was something more inside us, especially Andrea, that was waiting to burst out…I just couldn’t put my finger on it. Then, as Andrea was reading a portion of the book aloud to me, he came to the phrase, “crystalized knowledge.” Though we had never heard it before, this expression felt like it was tailor made for us and it soon became a lifeline.
Intelligence is not static, it is dynamic. It changes from one type to another as we age. As Arthur Brooks explains, in the first half of life we have fluid intelligence, “the ability to reason, think flexibly, and solve novel problems. It is what we commonly think of as raw smarts, and researchers find that it is associated with both reading and mathematical ability.” Over time, this fluid intelligence is replaced by crystalized knowledge, “the ability to use a stock of knowledge learned in the past…Crystallized intelligence, relying as it does on a stock of knowledge, tends to increase with age through one’s forties, fifties, and sixties—and does not diminish until quite late in life, if at all.” It draws from the well of expertise and wisdom in all of us that is derived not from textbooks, but rather from literal decades of experience, and it is precisely what sets us apart from (dare I say above) younger people.
But in order to fully reap the benefits and rewards of this hard-won wisdom, one must undergo a real mind shift, a redefinition of what progress and success means. A gradual movement from old strengths to new ones. From old capabilities to newly harnessed ones. From fossilized silhouettes fashioned from a fading self-image, to evergreen trees that are durable, reliable, solid, and capable of growth. For us, although we weren’t yet experiencing the ability decline that often precipitates this change, our hand was forced and we saw it as an opportunity to look at our selves differently—both professionally and personally. To appreciate the crystalized intelligence that only comes from years of unique work and singular experiences. We came to the realization that it not only has great value in and of itself, but it pays even greater dividends to share.
Sharing is unquantifiable
The well of experience deep inside us does not diminish with age and can be a source of redefined purpose. When we tap into that well, we are sharing the treasure inside, and that is the greatest source of fulfillment and happiness. Sharing with others. It’s an extension of our soul and enables us to grow as individuals as well.
In a previous Ageosophy article, Have You Been a Blessing to Someone Today, I quoted our dear friend Dick Bass who often said, “blessings shared are multiplied.” In this light, I can see the enormous difference between people who simply shift what they work on, versus those who utilize their trove of crystallized knowledge. Left unused, I believe that this intelligence can become a great source of unhappiness. Akin to food rotting in the refrigerator or water becoming stagnant, it can either become fuel for many wonderful possibilities…or poison that will eat away our souls.
Andrea and I often reflect on our neighbor who retired from being a machinist in his early seventies and didn’t take up anything else. He had a lovely wife and home, but he didn’t volunteer, didn’t have hobbies, and rarely socialized. Over the years he became increasingly dour and withdrawn until he died of cancer. We’ve often wondered if his life would have been different had he not “retired” from living but shared from his reservoir of crystalized intelligence.
A third arc
As I’m writing this, I’m filled with profound sadness for my dad. As a child, I intuitively felt that Dad was never truly happy. In part, it’s who he was. He was solitary. But, now that I’m seeing this stage of life in a different perspective, I’m curious if maybe the emptiness I sensed emanated from the fact he wasn’t using this deep well of crystalized knowledge that was singular to him. Perhaps he was languishing, not being able to share his intangible riches, and or he simply didn’t know how. Would that have made a difference in his life? My sense is that it would have.
I doubt Arthur Brooks will be reading this, but if he does, I can’t thank him enough for helping to dislodge Andrea and I from the unfortunate spot where we were wedged. It was an agonizing position to be in and an even more painful one to work out of, but the second half is looking brighter than I first thought. I’ve stopped lamenting the inevitable rebuilding, and I look forward to the exciting opportunities and new experiences on the horizon. Andrea and I gratefully feel as though our Phoenix is starting to rise.
I’ve reframed my thoughts about the future. I see three arcs instead of simply two halves. After I’ve accomplished everything that I’ve set out to do in the second curve, I’ll welcome the third arc in my 80s and 90s (possibly 100s) and rekindle my love for painting and leisurely afternoons, with loads of travel and adventure in the mix.
Needless to say, I won’t be retiring or expiring (God willing) anytime soon.