What happens when the life you’ve built becomes too complex to enjoy?

In this week’s post, I write about the exhaustion that comes with managing an over-scheduled existence—coaching calls, board meetings, cars in Switzerland that need inspection, and problems that follow you across time zones and wake you at 3 AM.

But sometimes clarity comes from unexpected places. Like a crowded train to Norwich that slowly empties out, giving you space to breathe and remember what actually matters.

I share the story of my friend Alistair, who owns nothing but a backpack and has problems that can be solved in a day. Generator breaks? Fix it. Need food? Go to town. Want to surf? Walk to the beach.

Meanwhile, my problems sprawl across continents and generations.

After four days immersed in karate with friends from around the world, I learned a Japanese word that might change everything: “Yada” - a simple, direct “no.” No explanations. No guilt.

The bottom line: True wealth isn’t a storage unit full of furniture no one wants. It’s health, freedom, purpose, and love. And sometimes it’s as simple as choosing the lentil salad over the junk food cart.

What I’m focusing on now: Dog walks, meals with people who see me, karate, piano, and writing. Everything else can wait.

P.S. Sometimes the best metaphor for the second half of life is getting a window seat on an emptying train.