Growing older brings wisdom, but it can also make us cynical. How do we prepare for life's disappointments without losing our curiosity, optimism, and capacity for delight?
There's an old expression: Youth is wasted on the young.
Young people have energy, optimism, curiosity, and the wonderful naivete of not knowing how badly things can go wrong.
What they lack is experience.
And experience is expensive.
You earn it through mistakes, disappointments, failures, and the occasional spectacular disaster.
When we moved my business this summer, I adopted a simple philosophy:
Today's going to suck.
And I was right. Almost every day.
It's nice to be good at something.
But expecting problems helped. As I wrote in Learning How to Carry Stress, I found that showing up, handling what I could control, and working through the problems was more useful than worrying about them.
The trouble is, what happens when expecting disappointment becomes your permanent outlook on life?
When does realism become cynicism?
And how do you acquire the wisdom of adulthood without surrendering the wonder of childhood?
How to Stop Being Cynical Without Being Naive
I've been thinking about Marcus Aurelius and the Stoics lately.
One idea keeps coming back to me: what happens to us and how we interpret it aren't necessarily the same thing.
An obstacle creates problems, but it can also create opportunities.
A business setback might reveal something that needs fixing. A disappointment might change our direction. Something that looks terrible today might eventually lead somewhere worthwhile.
Of course, sometimes things just suck.
Not every disaster is a blessing in disguise.
But we don't always know what an experience will mean while we're living through it.
So I'm trying to remember three things.
1. Expect problems, not misery.
Things will go wrong. That doesn't mean everything is going wrong.
Before deciding something is a disaster, consider what it might teach you or make possible.
Sometimes a setback is just a setback. But sometimes the very thing that frustrates us creates an opportunity we couldn't have anticipated.
3. Stay open to delight.
Keep learning. Stay curious. Try new things. Tell people how you feel.
Don't become so good at protecting yourself from disappointment that you stop allowing yourself to be surprised.
That's the difference I'm trying to preserve.
I don't want to be naive about life.
I just don't want to become cynical about living it.
Growing Older Without Losing Your Spirit
I think about my dad a lot when I consider the kind of older man I want to become.
There's so much about him I admire: his steadiness, his practicality, and his wisdom.
But I also want to preserve my enthusiasm for life.
I want to keep discovering wonderful music, learning classical guitar, and being amazed by ordinary things.
I don't want to spend the final chapter of my life simply maintaining the house, mowing the lawn, and waiting for the next doctor's appointment.
I've written about the importance of protecting the flame, that part of ourselves capable of experiencing curiosity, gratitude, wonder, and joy. I'm beginning to think protecting our outlook is just as important as protecting the habits that nourish it.
And maybe that's why Dad's handwritten card meant something to me.
He's always been supportive. But lately, I've noticed him expressing that support more openly, even in our family text messages.
Maybe he's changing a little.
Maybe he's simply getting better at showing us something that's always been there.
Either way, I like it.
Because it reminds me that growing older doesn't have to mean becoming more guarded.
At 80, Dad can still surprise me.
And perhaps I can still surprise myself.
I don't want to be young again. I want the wisdom that comes with experience.
I just don't want to lose the part of me that gets excited about a three-dollar record or a beautiful morning with my kids.
Prepare for disappointment, but leave room for delight.
Dining alone doesn’t have to feel lonely. A solo dinner became a chance to slow down, talk to strangers, people-watch, and enjoy a little human connection.