I have a theory: good qualities come with bad qualities. Not always, but often. The brilliant guy is often arrogant or socially awkward. The gorgeous guy is often shallow and less empathetic. The rich guy is often a workaholic and control freak.
I’ve long witnessed this phenomenon when listening to women complain about the men they’re dating. It wasn’t until recently that I’ve tried to shine the light on myself.
What defined me at 15 or 25 or 35 may not work any longer when I’m in my 50s.
This became apparent on a monthly Zoom call with the Los Angeles chapter of Modern Elder Academy where I’ve been an active member since last year.
The woman running the call asked us one simple question to discuss in a breakout room:
What armor are you starting to take off? This could be a role you no longer want to perform, a habit of self-protection, or an old belief that once served you but now feels tight or heavy. What is it protecting you from? And what becomes possible without it?
I thought about it and the answer just poured out of me.
My entire life has been driven by two beliefs:
I was born with a gift and it’s my responsibility to use it.
I will never fail because I didn’t work hard enough.
Thus, my gift with words and my work ethic are both my blessing AND my curse.
In high school, I studied my ass off to earn a National Merit Scholarship and get into a top university.
In college, I was the rush chair, head tour guide, and newspaper’s comedy columnist.
By senior year, I nearly dropped out due to regular panic attacks and generalized anxiety. Turns out I was great at being a student but was petrified about being an adult.
My 20s were brutal. I had the same gift of gab and the same work ethic - but this time, nothing worked. 15 sitcoms and 12 screenplays later, I was depressed, under-employed, and didn’t know what the future held.
I got lucky at age 31. I wrote a book about online dating that did well, I dropped out of film school, and hung out a shingle as the dating guy. No experience. No qualifications. Just the same two beliefs: “you have a gift with words” and “no one will outwork you.”
Like Alexander Hamilton, I’ve been writing like I’m running out of time for my entire adult life. 1000 blog posts, 1000 newsletters, 400 podcasts. Working 9:30-6:30 every weekday, rarely taking days or weeks off. I believed that work was my mission. And hey, all things considered: it’s not a bad mission.
But it does feel tight. It does feel heavy. It does feel that I’ve spent too many hours in an office, alone, and that I’m longing for more real-life connection and less of a rigid work schedule. So I’m gently letting go of my deepest held beliefs that no longer serve me.
I don’t need to be the smartest guy in the room. I don’t need to be the biggest name in dating coaching. I don’t need to work every day, nor every week. I don’t need to measure my success with vanity stats like followers or revenue. I need to be softer, humbler, kinder to myself, more compassionate to others. My legacy will be measured in the quality of my relationships and the relationships I’ve helped others attain.
Maybe you don’t have the exact same beliefs but if you’re like many of my readers and clients, your self-worth is almost inextricable from your achievements.
What happens when you disentangle your achievements from your identity? Who are you if you’re not your education, your career, your hobbies, and your possessions?
You might be surprised that you don’t know - and are scared of finding out.
That’s good. Being driven is often a compensation for a lack of love. You double down on work (or parenting or traveling or home renovation) to compensate.
What if you slowed down? What if you let go of that belief that you are your work, your perfectionism, your credentials, your children’s achievements?
Maybe you, too, could stand to be softer, humbler, kinder to myself, more compassionate to others. Maybe you could embody what it really means to love and be loved.
Evan