Just like that, I’m 40.

This is a threshold I have considered ad nauseum, and one I’ve struggled with deeply.

I’ve accomplished so much less than I thought I would have by now. Did I squander the potential of my youth?

I have not had as successful a career as I thought I would have. In the movie Duets, Billy, who owns half a cab, gives a ride to Miss Gahagan, who had been one of his teachers when he was in elementary school. He tells Miss Gahagan, “I am not an underachiever. I’m not. I am just trying to achieve something different than most people I know.” Miss Gahagan says, “You’re a riot, Billy. You’re kind of pathetic, but you’re a riot.” Usually, I agree with Billy. It’s not that I am not successful. It is that I have chosen to be successful at different things. In darker moments I feel pathetic.

Or, to use another word, I feel like a failure.

When I talk like this, people look at me like I am crazy, because my life looks pretty good. I’ve never made much money, but I have a great life. Our home in Lake Tahoe is on Airbnb and I’m living with my family in Guatemala. All good.

I have not had as successful a career as I thought I would have, but yes, I have been a better husband and father than I ever thought I would be. As a twenty-year old college kid with grandiose ideas about my future I thought a lot about my future successful political career but not much about being a dad.

But have I made use of all the talents God has given me? This question stirred in my mind. The intense years with young kids were more behind me than before me and I saw an opening I hadn’t seen in years to really dig into something professionally.  I wanted to dig into something, but I didn’t know what, or, frankly how. 

There were a few lines from a song by Passenger that resonated with me:

“Well I’ve a big old heart
This I know for sure
But I don’t know what my love is for”

And then the next line, I felt with frustration:

“I should know by now.”

I should know by now, I felt.

The shining achievements of my once promising career were now pretty far back in the rear view mirror and I feared that they were not the proof of my quality but the fluke.

I asked for direction from a genie in a bottle of Jim Beam. The form at the doctor and that question about how many drinks I had per week? There wasn’t an answer that was remotely true that I would not be embarrassed about.

Alcohol took the edge off the feelings of disappointment I felt with my life. Alcohol worked, until it didn’t.

The solace I once found in a drink or two I now felt like I was forever searching for at the bottom of  a bottle. I once felt like I could work any room with a drink in hand but now it was making me feel like a loser. I couldn’t not drink.

For a long time I told myself that to quit drinking completely was the easy way out, and I still kind of believe that. I thought (think) that I should be strong enough to drink and not drink too much. Quitting entirely seemed weak. I ought to be able to drink alcohol without drinking too much. I needed to develop that strength. I should be that strong. 

Here’s what I decided.

I’m not that strong.

Alcohol helped me become the person that I am, but it was keeping me from becoming the person I want to be.

So here was this thing that I felt I could not do — give up alcohol — and I did it.

Imagine the euphoria.

Imagine the confidence boost.

Then I got kicked in the balls and spent my 38th year on this planet reeling. I did some stupid stuff. I made mistakes. I did wrong. I just want to be clear about that. I screwed up. And there were people who were going to make sure I paid for my mistakes and they went after me.

This is a wound I’m not ready to talk about publicly. But it cut me deeply.

I spent most of my 39th year on this planet saying, “I’m so glad it’s not my 38th year anymore,” while 40 barrelled down on me. What have I done with my life? What happened to all the promise, all the hope, all the potential?

I thought I was going to be President.

Instead, I can barely pay my mortgage, I’ve written a couple of books that hardly anyone has read, and I’m speaking at a conference — for free — with only a dozen people showing up for my workshop.

It’s not that I haven’t lived up to my own expectations, or the expectations of others. It’s more than that. It’s much deeper than that.

There’s a sense of fear — a fear that I have squandered the gifts God has given me and that I’ve missed my calling. A fear that I will never be the man I could have been.

When I quit drinking God gave me this great gift of perspective. He allowed me to zoom out on my life. There was a ten year period where I drank too much. But I would live to be 80 years old or 100 years old. Alcohol did not define me. There would come a time when I could view alcohol as just a little bump in the road.

Life is long. This is a lesson I was learning. 

I wanted to write and express myself in some way. I wanted to share what I’d learned, but as I thought about doing that I realized I wasn’t quite ready.

I’ve become hyper focused on productivity. I have a broad view of production. Working on my business is being productive, but so is running 10 miles and so is reading with my kids. But every moment is optimized. It’s a question I often ask my kids. “Are you being productive with your time?” I think I have swung in the opposite direction of the guy who once wrote the book unWorking,  but I’m quite sure I’ve not yet found the right balance. Honestly, I was a lot better at relaxing when I used to drink.

I end each day by asking this question: What more could I have done today? I put in so many hours at work. I spent time reading and writing and reflecting. I studied Spanish, went on a run, spent time with my family. What more could I have done?

I am learning — I can’t say the lesson has stuck — to enjoy the process and to trust God with the results.

I have friends who are telling me that maybe it’s time that I lowered my expectations, or that I quit putting so much pressure on myself. But I once believed I could do great things, and here’s the thing.

I still believe it.

In the allegory The Alchemist, the Alchemist says,

“Before a dream is realized, the Soul of the World tests everything that was learned along the way. It does this not because it is evil, but so that we can, in addition to realizing our dreams, master the lessons we’ve learned as we’ve moved toward that dream. That’s the point at which most people give up. It’s the point at which, as we say in the language of the desert, one dies of thirst just when the palm trees have appeared on the horizon. Every search begins with beginner’s luck. And every search ends with the victor’s being severely tested.”

Because I’m not ready to put a pretty little bow on what I’ve learned, and because I do want to lean in, I decided to launch this project — Dealing with 40.

I have some big goals over the next year, including a 100 Mile Run.

But because I think I still lack the perspective I need, I have decided to spend a large part of my 40th year talking with people who are a little older and can share some perspective having climbed a little higher.

In the hypothetical commencement speech by Mary Schmich that was turned into a song called Wear Sunscreen by Baz Luhrmann, there’s this line:

“In 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself 
And recall in a way you can not grasp now 
How much possibility lay before you
And how fabulous you really looked…”

It doesn’t matter how old you are for those lines to be true. If you are twenty today, you have no idea how much potential lies before you. I am 40 and I have no idea how much potential lies before me. If you are 60 or 80 you have no idea how much potential lies before you.

I write a declaration, a plea, and an invitation.

A declaration to live and to seek my destiny. A declaration to become the very best version of myself and to do great things.

A plea that you would be patient with me, and with others. I have issues and I’m insecure. Please give me grace and know that even if I say something foolish or do something wrong that my heart is in the right place. Remember this of others too. Be kind. I’m guessing that you have your issues too. So please, please, let us affirm one another. I think we all probably spend enough time condemning ourselves.

An invitation to join me on this journey. Lean in with me. Share the lessons that you have learned and the perspective you have gained. Listen to the wisdom shared by the people I interview as a part of this project. Commit to being the best version of yourself.

Sincerely,
Clark Vandeventer