I was sitting on my porch one morning last spring…
coffee in my favorite mug, dog bathing in the sun by my feet…
when my heart fluttered with panic, and my face was draped with exhaustion.
The thought “what am I even doing and who am I even trying to be” crept in yet again.
Not in a dramatic, burn-it-all-down way (though maybe a little).
Just in an unsettling way, like when you remember you’ve left something on your kitchen counter after you’ve gotten in your car.
At 39 years old (and the time of writing this) I own an agency (possibly built on ego), have a partner I eagerly wait to wake up every morning so we can enjoy another day together, and I live near the ocean.
If 14-year-old me saw this scene, he would believe I have the best life.
So, why am I restless? Why do I still want to build more? Why did I make life so hard on myself instead of getting a job with a schedule and 401k? Why do I doubt my decisions? And, why did I decide to deep dive into psychology to try to self-analyze?
The last one is what led me to a YouTube black hole on intro to psych, who are key psychologists, and, most importantly, Carl Jung and his quote…
“Life really does begin at forty. Up until then, you are just doing research.”
The attribution is fuzzy. It’s passed around as Jung’s, though I couldn’t pin it to a specific text. But the idea aligns with him.
He believed the first half of life is about constructing an ego, an identity, a place in the world. The second half is about dismantling the parts that were never really you.
Some would call this a midlife crisis.
I think I am waking up in the dream I built.
The Uncomfortable Truth
If you’ve ever looked at your life and wondered, “Am I doing this right?” or “Is this what I even want to do with my life?” or “I want more”, you’re not alone.
In fact, researchers studying 2 million people across 80 countries discovered that life satisfaction reliably hits rock bottom in our mid-40s – right before it begins climbing to heights we haven’t seen since our youth (Blanchflower, 2020). We deep dive into this later.
Recently, I noticed something strange among all of my friends, even those making six figures…they all wanted or needed “more” and were stressed.
Imagine making over $100,000 at a full-time career and debating becoming an Uber driver for more income. Or that career was the wrong choice after years of schooling.
Imagine working over 40 hours a week, and being stressed that you may never be able to purchase a home or retire.
Imagine you are not alone. You have children (in my case, a small dog) who rely on you. You did everything you were told to do, and you are 40 years old and still feel like you can’t live without stress or like you haven’t achieved anything.
It wasn’t until I discovered Jung’s theory that I understood why this happens to nearly everyone.
The Jung Revelation
I started researching psychology in April 2025 because my 40th birthday was eight months away and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Not in a party-planning way. In a what-the-hell-have-I-been-doing way.
I wanted to understand why I’d built a life I was proud of, yet still seeking a state of satisfaction I couldn’t define.
Putting yourself out there will get you feedback. Reliably, YouTube’s algorithm picked up on my intentions and surfaced two videos that reframed my panic:
- Becoming Your True Self – The Psychology of Carl Jung
- Carl Jung Said that Life Really BEGINS at 40: My Midlife Advice To My Younger Self
Jung’s theory is simple but heavy:
Life One (0–40): You learn. You form an identity based on what you think you should be. You spend years proving it.
Life Two (40+): You stop trying. You start being. You already are somebody…now you become someone.
Hearing this stopped the suction of psychological black hole research. I paused and hung with Jung in that middle moment.
My stress about whether I was accomplished enough, individual enough, or doing it “right” seemed to find its foot stool in my mind and reclined.
I wasn’t lost. I wasn’t behind. I wasn’t falling apart.
I was finishing the research.
The U-Curve Underneath
As mentioned before, we will elaborate now….
Economists David Blanchflower and Andrew Oswald studied over 2 million people across 80 countries and found the same pattern everywhere: life satisfaction bottoms out in your mid-40s, then climbs to heights most people haven’t felt since their 20s.
They call it the U-curve of happiness.
Jung called it the transition from morning to afternoon.
The data is so consistent that they can pinpoint the trough at age 47.2 in developed countries.
Unfortunately, I might be part of the last generation where this curve holds. The data is already shifting
Younger generations are hitting the dip earlier. Recent research shows 18-25-year-olds are now flattening the front of the curve and experiencing “midlife”-level dissatisfaction before they’ve even started building.
Why?
My theory: we’re forced to see ourselves every day now. Social media turned self-comparison into a full-time job.
You watch others “define their success” publicly, measure your success in real time with what they have built to present, and feel behind before you’ve even begun.
So if you’re reading this at 25 or 55, the age matters less than the awareness. The question is the same:
Are you still living by the rules of your first life?
The Morning Life
Jung described the first half of life as the “morning”. It is a time of expansion, ambition, and proving yourself to the world.
In the morning, you ask: What can I become?
You build an identity. You chase metrics. You measure yourself against others and call it motivation.
The rules are clear: work hard, achieve things, accumulate proof that you matter.
I had a very productive morning…
The Achiever’s Attire
I built a marketing agency from scratch. Late nights, early mornings, sacrificed weekends….the whole mythology of hustle.
By external measures, I was succeeding. Clients. Revenue. A team. I had built something real. I was wearing the suit of success.
But it never scaled to where I “should” have been by 40.
I watched peers hit seven figures while I plateaued.
Constant comparison gave little insight. Why them and not me? Many started later than I did and were less experienced, yet still scaled.
After analysis, I wasn’t even sure if I wanted what they had.
I was caught between feeling like a failure for not scaling and questioning whether scaling was ever my goal or just the goal I inherited from my younger self.
This is the morning-life trap: success becomes a moving target, always out of reach, defined by society.
The Identity Costume
Not all of you are entrepreneurs, so let’s shift focus. For years, I was a “photographer.”
It wasn’t just what I did. My camera was always with me. My eye was always on the hunt for shots. I spent days and nights studying the craft with my buddy Nick. I acquired the label of “photographer” when friends introduced me to others.
I loved it. I loved being asked to shoot projects. I loved the identity.
Then I started dreading it. I hated editing. I felt uninspired. Nick was worlds better than me, and I would rather help him than inundate myself with the stress of a hobby.
Quietly at first, I put the camera down. Not dramatically. Not intentionally. Just…less…and less. I took a cross-country road trip with the explicit goal of not documenting it.
My grasp on photography loosened. Its hold on me slipped.
So I hopped into new hobbies.
Muay Thai, jiu-jitsu, writing. Suddenly, I had hobbies but no “thing.” No label.
When people asked, “What do you do?” I started pausing. I wasn’t introduced as a photographer anymore, so I had to define myself.
Am I still a photographer if I rarely pick up my camera? Who am I if I’m not who I’ve been?
This is the morning-life bind: you build an identity so solid it becomes a cage. When it no longer fits, you don’t know who you are without it.
The Morning’s Promise (and Its Lie)
The morning promises that if you work hard enough, achieve enough, and build a strong enough identity, you’ll arrive. You’ll feel complete.
It’s a lie.
Not because achievement is bad, but because the morning’s rules aren’t rigid, though they seem that way when you are in it.
At some point, the youthful bliss fades. The naivety wears off. And the question shifts…
“Who was I becoming this for?”
That’s when the afternoon begins.
The Afternoon Shift
The afternoon doesn’t announce itself.
There’s no alarm. No calendar invite. Just a slow realization that the rules you’ve been following no longer apply and maybe never did.
Jung called this the transition from morning to afternoon. But “transition” sounds gentle. It’s not.
It’s more like falling asleep right before sundown and waking up in the dark.
The Control Paradox
My twenties and thirties would be a masterclass in going with the flow if success had a recipe.
Other people seemed to know better and more. My lack of knowledge led me to pay them for theirs.
Every guru had a formula. Every successful founder had a playbook. I just needed to follow it.
So I adapted. I tried to become easy-going, reliable, and malleable.
Naturally, I arrived at a paradox: the more I let others steer, the less control I actually had. My identity and ego burned inside me.
And then the fight started.
My brain loves solving problems. So when people handed me answers, something short-circuited.
It can’t be that easy. If it were, everyone would do it.
I watched others succeed by following formulas and felt… resentment? Confusion?
I told myself they weren’t really in control. They were just copying. They weren’t creative. They weren’t individuals.
I devalued their success to protect my identity.
And I sabotaged my own because I couldn’t let go of needing to figure it out myself.
The control paradox: Giving up control feels like losing yourself. But refusing help isn’t independence…it’s isolation wearing a mask.
The Questions You Can’t Outrun
The afternoon forces questions that the morning lets you avoid:
How many of your goals are actually yours? And, how many are just expectations you forgot to question?
If you couldn’t tell anyone about your next achievement, would you still want it?
Are you afraid of failing or afraid of succeeding at the wrong thing?
I sat with that last one for weeks, months…my life.
The answer was uncomfortable: I wasn’t afraid of failure. I was afraid I’d been succeeding at something that was never mine to begin with.
Meeting the Shadow
Jung had a name for this discomfort. He called it the shadow. It is the parts of yourself you’ve ignored, suppressed, or buried because they didn’t fit the identity you built.
The shadow isn’t your “dark side” in some dramatic sense. It’s simpler and harder than that.
It’s the ambition you called “selfish” so you didn’t have to risk it.
It’s the anger you swallowed because you wanted to be “easy-going.”
It’s the creative work you abandoned because someone once said it wasn’t practical.
The shadow is everything you pushed down and packed away, and it doesn’t stay buried forever.
Jung warned that what we don’t face consciously will show up anyway. As anxiety. As resentment. As the vague sense that something is missing even when everything looks fine.
“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.”
Though I thought I had control of my future, it turns out I needed to focus on the present and reflect on the past.
The Afternoon’s Real Question
The morning asks: What can I become?
The afternoon asks something harder: What have I been avoiding?
Not what you failed at. Not what you didn’t achieve. But what you never let yourself want. What you buried to fit the identity you thought you needed.
That’s the work now.
And here’s the uncomfortable truth: knowing this doesn’t make it easier. Understanding the U-curve, reading Jung, seeing the pattern….none of it skips the process.
But it does change one thing.
You stop thinking you’re broken. You start realizing you’re right on time.
The Science of the Shift
But right on time for what?
This is where the data gets interesting.
What Happens After the Bottom
Remember the U-curve? Life satisfaction bottoms out around 47, but it doesn’t stay there.
It climbs. Steadily. Into your 50s, 60s, and beyond.
Not because life gets easier. The researchers found something stranger: people who navigate this transition successfully undergo a fundamental shift in what they measure.
They stop chasing external validation.
They develop what psychologists call “intrinsic motivation.”
You are doing things because they matter to you, not because they impress others.
In Jung’s terms: they stop applying morning rules to the afternoon.
The people on the upswing aren’t the ones who achieved more.
They’re the ones who finally stopped asking “Am I enough?” and started asking “What’s actually mine?”
The Missed Opportunity Myth
We assume success has an expiration date. But look closer:
Samuel L. Jackson’s breakout came at 42. Vera Wang didn’t design her first dress until 40. Henry Ford was 45 when he introduced the revolutionary Model T. Arianna Huffington launched The Huffington Post at age 55.
These aren’t late bloomers. They’re right on time.
I know these seem too big to be real, but they were the quiet grinders in the morning.
No matter what you are building, take comfort that the average age of high-growth startup founders isn’t 22. It’s not even 30.
It’s 45.
MIT and the U.S. Census Bureau studied 2.7 million founders and found that the older you are, the better your odds. A 50-year-old is nearly twice as likely to build a high-growth company as a 30-year-old. Twenty-somethings had the worst odds of all.
Why?
Because by 40, you have something more valuable than energy and naivety:
- You know what doesn’t work (failure is education)
- You have real expertise, not just enthusiasm
- You understand people (especially yourself)
- You have less to prove and more to give
That agency I built but “failed” to scale? Turns out I was learning exactly what I needed for whatever comes next.
The morning taught me skills. The afternoon will teach me what to do with them.
The Learning Shift
Just when you felt out of touch (because you have no idea what kids are talking about anymore) and like you missed your chance, I’ve got good news… adult learning peaks in the forties.
The National Center for Education Statistics found that 40% of adults participate in education or training annually. But the why changes as you get older—less “climb the ladder,” more “feed the curiosity.”
I became one of these statistics without realizing it.
Business books became boring and redundant, so I sought a way to continue a reading habbit through graphic novels.
Muay Thai and jiu-jitsu filled a gap I didn’t know existed.
Building AI tools, diving into psychology, exploring Jung…none of this was for my resume.
For the first time, I was learning for myself.
The Pattern
Step back and look at what the data actually shows:
- Happiness dips, then rises higher than before
- Entrepreneurial success peaks in the forties
- Learning shifts from external goals to internal curiosity
It’s almost as if this uncomfortable phase is designed to force a transformation. As if the dissatisfaction is fuel.
Jung would say: the afternoon isn’t decline. It’s the part of life you were actually building toward.
But knowing the pattern doesn’t automatically change anything.
The question becomes: What do you actually do with this?
The Practical Alchemy
Knowing the pattern doesn’t change anything.
Reading Jung won’t fix you. Understanding the U-curve won’t skip the dip. Awareness is the starting line, not the finish.
So what actually works?
I can only tell you what worked for me…someone who resisted therapy, hated gyms, and spent years thinking I could think my way out of everything.
Turns out, I was half right.
The Journal That Keeps Changing
I’ve journaled every morning for years. I’m sure you have seen successful people online tell you you have to journal and give you a template.
But, that is their version: the how matters less than the why, and the why keeps changing.
Some seasons, I need strict planning. I use a template that breaks goals into quarterly, monthly, weekly, and daily actions. It keeps me accountable when I’m building something.
Other seasons, I need the opposite. I need to list what I’m grateful for. I need to remind myself that I’m not behind, that what I have is enough, that appreciation isn’t weakness.
The habit stays. The format adapts.
That’s the secret: journaling isn’t one thing. It’s a container that holds whatever you need at the time. Rigid structure when you’re drifting. Gratitude when you’re grinding too hard. Reflection when you’re avoiding something.
The platform doesn’t matter. Paper, Notion, whatever.
But I’d recommend tying AI into it. Yes, you can manually analyze, but an objective source is ideal. Something that can analyze past entries, surface patterns you missed, and help you build templates for what you actually need.
The journal isn’t the answer. It’s the place where you find the questions.
The AI Therapist I Built Instead
I didn’t want to see a therapist.
Not because I think therapy is bad. I don’t. But I wanted to give myself a chance to think through things first. To see if I could untangle my own knots before asking someone else to do it.
That’s when I discovered Socratic questioning.
The idea is simple: instead of giving answers, you ask questions that lead to the next question. You don’t solve the problem. You explore it.
So I built a prompt. Nothing fancy (you do not need to be tech savvy for this). It is a prompt for any AI that asks me what I’m thinking about, what situation I’m in, and then keeps asking “why” and “what else” until I’ve talked myself somewhere new.
One of our biggest problems is that we always want to win. Solve the thing. Fix it. Move on.
But sometimes you don’t need a solution. You need to understand the problem. Or you just need to vent without someone trying to fix you.
The AI doesn’t judge. It doesn’t get tired. It doesn’t try to wrap things up in 50 minutes.
It just keeps asking.
And sometimes, that’s enough to hear yourself clearly for the first time.
The Gym I Actually Wanted to Go To
I never saw myself as a gym person.
I’m short. And short guys who lift heavy always look like they have something to prove. Like they’re trying to compensate by getting wider. That wasn’t me.
Also, picking things up and putting them down is boring. I was never excited to go. I’d force myself, resent it, and quit.
Then I tried Muay Thai.
The logic was simple: I needed something that would keep me fit when there were no waves to surf, but also keep my brain engaged. Martial arts checked both boxes – physical work and active learning.
What I didn’t expect was what it would teach me about ego.
Walking into that gym as a complete beginner, I had no choice but to drop the pretense. I was going to get hit. I was going to look stupid. I was going to be bad at something in public.
And that was the point.
I started watching video feedback of myself, which is something I’d always resisted. In surfing, I’d watch my footage and get frustrated at dumb mistakes, embarrassed by my style. I’d been surfing for years. I should be better.
But in fighting? I’m supposed to be bad. I’ve never done this before.
That reframe changed everything.
Suddenly, being a beginner wasn’t shameful. It was permission. Permission to learn without the weight of expectation. Permission to suck and keep showing up anyway.
Jiu-jitsu drove it deeper. You can’t fake your way through getting submitted. The mat doesn’t care about your ego. It just shows you where you’re weak, and then you either learn or you keep getting choked.
The afternoon asks you to become a beginner again. Not at everything. But at the things that matter. The things you’ve been avoiding because you’re afraid to be bad at them.
The gym taught me that learning is the point. Not mastery. Not winning.
Just showing up, getting hit, and paying attention.
These aren’t the only tools. They’re just the ones that worked for me.
The real question isn’t which practice you choose. It’s whether you’re willing to begin.
The Evolution
The afternoon is not about abandoning who you were. It’s about integrating it.
Remember the photographer I buried? He’s back. But different.
I still pick up my camera. Not to prove I’m a photographer, not to post content, not to keep up with others. I pick it up to document moments for myself.
The lighting isn’t always perfect. There’s blur sometimes. It doesn’t matter.
It’s the moment. That’s the point.
My camera isn’t the latest model. My lenses are used. And I love them more than any gear I stressed over buying in my prime.
The same shift happened with surfing. I used to push myself onto boards that were “better” and higher performance (aka harder to ride). Because that’s what progression looked like, right?
Then I tuned down. Friendlier boards for my actual skill level. Sessions became enjoyable again instead of frustrating. I stopped fighting the ocean and started working with it.
The things I used to stress over were things I brought to myself.
I’m okay with that now.
I’m extremely happy I didn’t buy a house I couldn’t afford just because everyone else seemed to be doing it. That pressure felt so real at the time. I felt like I was falling behind some invisible timeline.
Now I wonder if my future self would actually prefer something simpler. Less maintenance. Less anchoring to one place.
Maybe my love for the environment and my search for community will lead me to build something entirely different than an agency.
I don’t know yet. And for the first time, that feels like freedom instead of failure.
The morning is about accumulation. More skills. More gear. More proof.
The afternoon is about integration. Using what you have. Letting go of what you don’t need. Building for who you’re becoming, not who you thought you should be.
The photographer didn’t die. He just stopped performing.
The surfer didn’t quit. He just stopped fighting.
The entrepreneur didn’t fail. He just started asking better questions.
The Invitation
At 40 (or 35, or 28, or 52—whenever you’re reading this), you have a choice.
You can keep running the morning’s program into the afternoon.
That looks like: chasing the next milestone that won’t satisfy you. Comparing yourself to people playing a different game. Holding onto an identity that stopped fitting years ago. Wondering why you feel empty when you’ve done everything “right.”
Or you can step into what Jung promised.
That looks like: asking what you actually want instead of what you should want. Letting go of the identity you built to protect yourself. Becoming a beginner at something that scares you. Facing the shadow instead of running from it.
The first path is familiar. The second is uncomfortable.
But here’s what I’ve learned sitting with this for the past year…
The discomfort of staying the same eventually outweighs the discomfort of change.
You can pay now or pay later.
But you will pay.
The question isn’t whether life begins at 40.
The question is: what are you willing to let end?
The goals that were never yours. The identity that no longer fits. The version of success someone else defined for you.
What would you build if you stopped trying to prove something?
What would you learn if you weren’t afraid to be bad at it?
Who would you become if you stopped performing who you thought you should be?
The Closing: The Beginning
At the time of posting this, I’m sitting on that porch most mornings. It is frigid cold, and I spend my morning sitting in the sun with a heating pad easing aches from the gym.
Coffee is still in the same mug (I urge you to buy a resuable mug and bring it with you for coffee runs). Dog is still curled up by me. Ocean still within reach.
But something shifted.
The panic doesn’t visit as often. Not because I figured everything out because I haven’t. But because I stopped expecting myself to.
I’m not behind. I’m not broken. I’m not running out of time.
I’m just finishing the research.
The afternoon is starting. I don’t know exactly what I’ll build, who I’ll become, or what I’ll have to let go of next. But for the first time, that uncertainty doesn’t feel like failure.
It feels like the point.
Yes, it brings up anxiety, but it is fleeting. I know I can start whatever I want whenever I want.
For me, Jung was right. Life does begin at 40.
For you, whatever curve you are navigating, you have enough experience to ask the real questions….and enough time left to live the answers.
You’ve done the research.
Now begin.
