When you reach your forties, you may suddenly be struck by a strange feeling.
You have become reasonably good at your work.
You have acquired some of the things you wanted when you were younger.
You have a family. Your life is relatively stable.
And yet, for some reason, you feel restless.
“Am I really going to keep doing the same thing?”
“Am I supposed to repeat this for another twenty or thirty years?”
“Then what do I actually want to do?”
But no matter how much you think about it, no new grand dream appears.
This is one form of what is commonly called a midlife crisis.
Lately, though, I have started to wonder whether the word “crisis” is really the right one.
Maybe nothing is broken.
Maybe the rules of the game that carried you through the first half of your life simply no longer fit who you are.
What Do You Do After Defeating the Final Boss?
The first half of life is relatively easy to understand.
You take entrance exams.
You earn qualifications.
You find a job.
You learn how to work.
You increase your income.
You get married.
You buy a home.
You raise children.
Of course, not everyone follows this exact path. But society does provide a fairly clear sequence of “next stages.”
In a video game, it is like having your next destination displayed in the upper-right corner of the screen.
When you are young, you also tend to have a strong desire to move forward.
You want to go higher.
You want to see how far you can go.
You want to be recognized.
There is nothing inherently wrong with competition, the desire for approval, or ambition.
Sometimes these things provide enormous momentum.
But around your forties, something strange can happen—especially to people who have made significant progress.
You defeat the final boss.
Of course, this does not mean that your life is complete.
But at some point, you may look at the major goal you have been pursuing for so long and think:
“Well, maybe this is enough.”
Then, instead of feeling only a sense of accomplishment, you may also feel a kind of emptiness.
“So, what comes next?”
This pain does not necessarily come from failure.
In fact, sometimes the fuel that once drove you runs out precisely because you have succeeded.
That, I think, is what makes a midlife crisis so interesting.
Erikson and Jung on the Turning Point of Life
There are some classic psychological ideas that help us think about this stage of life.
The developmental psychologist Erik Erikson described the central challenge of middle age as “generativity versus stagnation.”
In simple terms, this is the period when your attention may begin to expand beyond your own success.
You may start to care more about children, the next generation, society, your work, or creative activities—something larger than yourself.
Carl Gustav Jung also believed that the tasks of the first half of life and the second half of life are different.
During the first half, we adapt to society, establish our place in the world, and build foundations through work, family, and other external achievements.
But as we enter the “afternoon” of life, the values that worked before may no longer be enough.
Our attention gradually begins to move from the outside world toward the inside.
This is not a medical law saying that everyone changes in exactly this way at forty.
A midlife crisis is not an illness that happens to everyone.
Still, it is an interesting perspective for understanding the feeling that “the rules of success that used to work somehow no longer feel right.”
Letting Go of the “Shortest-Path Game” of the First Half of Life
During the first half of life, efficiency is extremely important.
You learn quickly.
You produce results in a short time.
You eliminate waste.
You increase your income.
You choose actions that lead to clear outcomes.
Without realizing it, you become skilled at playing what might be called “the shortest-path game.”
The problem is that you may become too good at it.
When you travel, you start thinking about how many places you can visit.
When you exercise, you focus on how many kilograms you can lose.
When you read, you ask what you can learn from the book.
When you begin a hobby, you think about how far you can improve.
When you write, you look at how many people read your work.
Before you know it, you have started assigning KPIs to your leisure time.
Even in middle age, you may continue asking:
“What is the next goal I should achieve?”
But perhaps this way of thinking is part of the problem.
In the second half of life, it may be worth deliberately doing things that are inefficient.
Take your time.
Take detours.
Try something that takes years to learn.
Do things that produce no obvious results.
Read philosophy, even though it will not give you a qualification.
Take a field guide and learn the names of the plants growing around your neighborhood.
Try meditation.
Start strength training and enjoy the feeling of your body gradually changing.
Simply watch the sky and the clouds.
Study something you have never explored before—history, astronomy, art, pottery, or music.
Try doing the things you once dismissed by saying:
“What’s the point of that?”
The reason is that what enriches our lives is not always the result.
You Don’t Need to Create Another Grand Dream
This point is especially important.
When people experience a midlife crisis, they often think:
“I need to find a new purpose in life.”
You worked hard at your company, so perhaps you should start a business.
You succeeded in your career, so perhaps you should devote yourself to social causes.
You climbed one mountain, so perhaps you need to find an even higher one.
But this does not change the game itself.
You are simply looking for an even stronger final boss after defeating the previous one.
Maybe you do not need another grand dream.
“Maybe I’d like to try that.”
“That sounds kind of interesting.”
“I’m looking forward to next week because of that one thing.”
Perhaps that is enough.
Instead of finding a dream, put one small, exciting plan on your calendar.
Try strength training.
Experiment with Zen meditation or mindfulness.
Go to the library and borrow a book from a section you would normally never visit.
Learn the name of one plant.
Look up the constellations.
Take a walk with a camera.
Try pottery.
These small things are enough.
You do not need to decide what your next life will look like.
You only need to make the next day a little more interesting.
That may fit the second half of life surprisingly well.
Try the “Ten-Billion-Yen Test”
There is another idea I find interesting. I call it the “ten-billion-yen test.”
The method is simple:
If you had ten billion yen, would you still do this?
Of course, this is not a formal psychological test.
It is simply a thought experiment that allows you to temporarily remove money, status, approval, and anxiety about the future from your desires.
Even with ten billion yen, you might still play video games.
Even with ten billion yen, you might still read books.
Even with ten billion yen, you might still exercise.
Even with ten billion yen, you might still visit hot springs.
Even with ten billion yen, you might still want to visit places you have never seen.
Even with ten billion yen, you might still want to tell someone about something interesting you discovered.
Even with ten billion yen, you might still write or create something.
These activities are probably quite pure.
They are not primarily about being useful, making money, or being admired.
You do them simply because you want to.
The pleasures of the second half of life may be hidden in precisely these kinds of things.
Treasure the Things No One Else Understands
There is another useful question:
“Would I still like this if I had no one else’s standards to measure it by?”
Think of it this way.
Everyone in your class says, “That person isn’t particularly attractive.”
But for some reason, you find her adorable.
That feeling is similar.
You do not need to explain it to anyone.
There is no popularity ranking.
Even if someone asks, “What do you see in it?” you can simply say:
“I don’t know. I just like it.”
In fact, the things we feel this way about may be especially powerful.
They do not depend on social approval.
Work, income, titles, follower counts, the size of your assets, and academic scores all involve someone else’s measuring stick.
But perhaps you like old video games.
Perhaps you enjoy reading philosophy.
Perhaps you like looking at moss and plants.
Perhaps watching clouds makes you feel calm.
Perhaps you enjoy gradually increasing the weights you lift at the gym.
Perhaps you like spending time alone with your thoughts.
These things do not have much of a ranking system.
You do not have to prove them to anyone.
That is precisely what makes them valuable.
Collect Small, Certain Joys
Recently, I have also come to believe that small, certain joys are important.
They are not spectacular, like achieving a major dream.
They are not necessarily things that make other people envious.
But they reliably make you feel better.
Taking a long, relaxing bath.
Reading a few pages of a book you have been wanting to read.
Feeling your body become slightly lighter after exercising.
Closing your eyes for ten minutes in a quiet place.
Looking at the sky while drinking coffee.
Learning the name of one unfamiliar plant.
Making a little progress in an old video game.
Noticing that the evening clouds look strangely beautiful.
That level of happiness is enough.
These moments produce almost nothing.
They do not increase sales.
They do not lead to qualifications.
You cannot put them on your résumé.
And yet, they make for a very good life.
The happiness of the second half of life is not determined only by a few major events each year.
It may also depend greatly on how many small moments there are in your everyday life when you can honestly think:
“Today was pretty good.”
When we are young, we tend to focus on the summit.
But in the second half of life, it may be enough to notice and enjoy the scenery along the way.
Jung’s “Shadow” Is Not the Bad Part of You
Jung’s ideas are interesting here as well.
In Jungian psychology, there are concepts known as the “persona” and the “shadow.”
The persona is the face we wear in society.
An employee.
A doctor.
A business owner.
A parent.
A manager.
A responsible adult.
The persona is necessary if we are going to function in society.
The problem is that after wearing it for so long, we may begin to believe:
“This is who I really am.”
Meanwhile, other parts of ourselves are pushed out of sight.
The part that wants to be lazy.
The part that wants to be alone.
The part that wants to do something silly.
The part that does not want to be evaluated by anyone.
The part that wants to do something completely useless.
The part that is not necessarily trying to fail, but simply does not want to compete anymore.
Jung’s “shadow” is not simply the evil side of a person.
It also includes the parts of ourselves that we have rejected or cut off because we did not want to acknowledge them.
The task in the second half of life is not to let these parts run wild.
It is to say:
“Ah, I guess this is part of me, too.”
There is a serious side of me.
There is a side of me that wants to be lazy.
There is a part of me that wants to work.
There is a part of me that wants to play.
There is a part of me that wants to be with people.
There is a part of me that wants to be alone.
I do not have to eliminate one side or the other.
All of them are me.
This is what makes the idea of “integration” so interesting.
Observe Yourself Instead of Searching for Yourself
For this reason, I do not think we need to go desperately searching for our “true selves” in the second half of life.
It is unlikely that there is a completed, perfect version of ourselves hidden somewhere, waiting to be discovered so that it can provide the answer to life.
Instead, we can observe what we react to.
That is enough.
Something catches your attention for no obvious reason.
You suddenly want to go somewhere.
You can read about something for hours.
You do not seem to get tired of it.
Something makes you angry.
Something makes you feel relieved.
You want to be alone.
These small reactions contain a surprising amount of information about who you are.
Of course, emotions are not always correct.
But they can at least be treated as data.
They are not answers.
They are not commands.
They are data to observe.
That kind of distance may be just right.
Irritation Can Also Show You the Direction of Your Life
The same applies to unpleasant emotions.
Suppose someone makes you extremely irritated.
Usually, we think:
“That person is the problem.”
But try separating facts from interpretations.
What are the facts?
What meaning did you attach to those facts?
Then ask yourself:
“Why am I reacting so strongly?”
You may discover that you do not have enough time alone.
You may realize that having your sense of control taken away is painful for you.
You may be exhausted from managing other people.
You may no longer want to compete.
You may actually want to live a quiet life.
There is no need either to justify your anger or to deny it.
Treat your emotions not as a verdict on life, but as observational data.
Even this small change can make a significant difference.
Quitting Is Not Necessarily Defeat
Middle age also brings another difficult problem:
It can be hard to let go of something you have spent years building.
A long career.
A title.
Relationships.
A business.
A place where you live.
You may find yourself thinking:
“I’ve already come this far.”
This is closely related to the problem of sunk costs in psychology and behavioral economics.
The time and money you have already invested cannot be recovered.
Yet because you do not want that investment to have been wasted, you may allow it to control your future as well.
Of course, this does not mean you should quit everything.
There are times when it is worth holding on.
But continuing is not the only honorable choice.
Your environment may have changed.
You may have changed.
Your values may have changed.
If so, changing direction can also be a form of adaptation.
In the second half of life, the more important question may not be:
“I have worked this hard, so how can I continue?”
It may be:
“Where do I want to reallocate the time I have left?”
You Do Not Have to Decide What Comes Next Immediately
When we stop doing something, we often want to decide what comes next right away.
An empty space can feel frightening.
“What will you do after you leave your job?”
“What is your next goal?”
“What will your career look like from here?”
These questions come not only from other people. We also demand answers from ourselves.
But this may be the right time to create a moratorium.
Do nothing for a while.
Do not decide what comes next.
Do not immediately fill every empty space.
Take some distance from your former titles and achievements.
Only then may you begin to hear the small voice asking:
“What do I actually want to do now?”
This is not the same as laziness.
It is a period of openness that allows you not to rush into designing the next chapter of your life.
Before you identify the seed, do not fill the entire field with a schedule.
You Do Not Have to Turn Your Whole Life into a Business Plan
Thinking about all this, I have realized one thing.
During the first half of life, the cycle of
planning → execution → evaluation → improvement
is extremely useful.
But do we really need to run life itself through the same PDCA cycle?
A café you happen to enter.
A writer who suddenly catches your interest.
A philosophy book you pick up by chance.
A flower by the roadside whose name you do not know.
Clouds you happen to watch in the evening.
Strength training you begin almost without thinking.
When we look back on our lives, these are often the things that remain.
That is why, in the second half of life, perhaps the following is enough:
Make room → observe → try something small → continue if it is interesting → stop when you get bored.
This does not mean living without any plan.
It means acknowledging that a great deal of life cannot be planned.
Step Away from Social Media and Other People’s Measuring Sticks
One of the most difficult parts of reclaiming your own values is comparison with other people.
Human beings are social creatures, so it is impossible to stop comparing ourselves with others completely.
We tend to compare ourselves especially with people whose circumstances are close to our own.
People of the same age.
People in the same profession.
People from the same school.
People in the same industry.
People with similar incomes.
Because they are close to us, we are more likely to use them as a measuring stick.
Social media pours an enormous number of comparison targets into our lives.
Then noise enters a life we were actually satisfied with:
“Is that person doing better than I am?”
This is where the idea of the “beetle’s measuring stick” becomes useful.
It would be absurd for a human being to look at a rhinoceros beetle and say:
“Your income is low.”
“You do not have any qualifications.”
“You should study harder.”
It would be equally meaningless for a rhinoceros beetle to judge a human being by saying:
“Your horn is too small.”
“You are bad at finding tree sap.”
“You cannot fly at night.”
They are living under different conditions and playing different games.
Yet when it comes to other human beings, we suddenly start doing exactly this.
So perhaps the following attitude is enough:
Other people’s lives are samples. I make the decisions about my own life.
In the End, It Is Fine to Become a Fun-Loving Old Guy
As I think about all of this, I have begun to feel that the goal of the second half of life does not have to be especially grand.
It does not have to be becoming a great person.
It does not have to be succeeding all over again.
It does not have to be proving something to society.
Maybe it can be something much simpler:
Become a fun-loving old guy.
Perhaps that is enough.
Move your body a little in the morning.
Learn one thing you did not know.
Read an interesting book.
Study a field you have never explored before.
Learn the name of a plant.
Watch the clouds.
Try meditation.
Play around with interesting tools and AI.
Go somewhere on a whim.
Do nothing when you do not feel like doing anything.
Then go to sleep thinking:
“Today was pretty good, too.”
This kind of accumulation is surprisingly powerful.
When we are young, we tend to focus on creating an admirable future.
But in the second half of life, the person who can genuinely enjoy today may ultimately be the one who enjoys life as a whole.
Seen this way, the idea of becoming a “fun-loving old guy” is actually quite profound.
A Life That Was Interesting, Not Merely Successful
Ultimately, getting through a midlife crisis may not mean becoming strong again.
It may not mean becoming even more successful.
It may not mean acquiring a new title.
It may mean changing the way you evaluate your life.
When we are young, we often measure life by asking:
“Was I successful?”
In the second half, perhaps we can ask:
“Was it interesting?”
Success is easily measured by other people’s standards.
But whether your life was interesting belongs much more deeply to you.
At the end of your life, perhaps you would rather think:
“I wish I had been admired more.”
No.
Maybe it would be enough to think:
“Well, there were all kinds of things, but it was an interesting life.”
Put One Small Exciting Thing on the Calendar
So perhaps the answer to a midlife crisis is surprisingly ordinary.
You do not need to search for a grand mission.
You do not need to decide the meaning of your life right now.
You do not need to design the next ten years.
Ask yourself today:
“What would make me feel just a little excited?”
Read a philosopher you have never read before.
Start strength training.
Try meditation.
Buy a field guide to plants.
Look at the night sky.
Get off at a station you have never visited.
Try pottery.
Write something.
Do nothing.
It does not matter if no one else appreciates it.
It does not have to be useful.
It does not have to make money.
And if you would still do it even with ten billion yen, then that is an especially good sign.
The first half of life asks:
“How far can I climb?”
The second half asks:
“How deeply can I savor the experience?”
When we think of it this way, a midlife crisis no longer looks like the period when life begins to fall apart.
Perhaps it is the empty space that appears while we are moving from a life built according to other people’s measuring sticks to a life experienced through our own senses.
You do not have to rush to fill that space.
Rest a little.
Play a little.
Take a few detours.
Try things you have never experienced before.
Find the small seeds that only you respond to.
Then water them.
You do not have to decide what kind of tree they will become.
You do not have to prove anything to anyone.
You do it simply because you want to.
And in the end, perhaps it is better to become not a successful old man, but a fun-loving old guy.
That may be a perfectly good way to begin the afternoon of life.
