Each week I focus my Weekly Whiteboard on a topic that has investment, planning and/or more philosophical (bigger picture) implications. This week is no different, however, I want to disclaim one point… aside from working out more, currently driving a sports car (it’s old and it’s my kid’s), and a new hobby of drumming (eventually in a band) – this is not a mid-life crisis post! Rather, this is a mid-life REFLECTION post. Also, I anticipate that this post will likely resonate more with some than others. Okay, I am thinking specifically of clients who may be a little further into retirement… but this is for you too! Just, frame it less around career change and more about change in goals and where you focus your time and energy. With that said, if this post does not resonate with you, maybe a friend, relative or colleague could benefit from the words below. Regardless… enjoy.
There’s a subtle tension that tends to build over the course of a career, regardless of field or focus. It doesn’t show up all at once or announce itself with urgency. In fact, for many high achievers, it hides in plain sight, masked by productivity, progress, and the steady accumulation of “wins” until, at some point, a question starts to emerge: what happens when the strengths that built my success begin to fade?
This idea sits at the heart of a book I was recently encouraged to read, “From Strength to Strength” by Arthur C. Brooks, a book that on the surface explores stages in life, but actually offers something much more useful: a framework for thinking about how to live well across the full arc of life. For most of us, the early and middle parts of life are defined by what Brooks calls “fluid intelligence,” the ability to think quickly, solve problems, compete, and produce. It is the season of accumulation, and it is often a long season. We build careers, grow businesses, and accumulate assets, credibility and, if we are being honest, a certain level of identity tied to all of the above. In this phase, success is measurable and tangible and, in our current society (unfortunately), comparable. Those characteristics are precisely what make it so compelling. But there is a subtle tradeoff embedded in that success. The traits that drive performance early on, mental agility, energy, and competitiveness, are not necessarily the same traits that sustain fulfillment later in life. Over time, they begin to lose their edge. Not all at once, but gradually and quietly, often just enough to make us uneasy, but not enough to force a change.
This is where Brooks introduces the idea of a “second curve” or a transition from fluid intelligence to what he calls “crystallized intelligence.” In more practical terms, this is a shift from doing to understanding, from proving to teaching, from accumulating to contributing. It is not a step back; it is a shift in comparative advantage. It is also highly relatable in many areas of life, investing included. And yet, many people resist it, largely because the first curve comes with clear feedback loops, potentially prestige, income, and recognition, while the second curve is far less externally validated. It is more internal and, therefore, harder to measure.
At the same time, let’s not approach getting older or retirement as an abstract concept. Rather, let’s address the realities that most of us would prefer to avoid: changing goals, changing health, changing perspective and, ultimately, mortality. But the point is not to dwell on those realities. It is to understand them well enough to make better decisions in light of them. The goal is not simply to keep extending what is familiar and comfortable, a losing battle I would suggest, but to preserve meaning, purpose, and connection. And that requires intentionality long before those questions become urgent.
Taken together, these perspectives challenge a deeply embedded assumption that life is best measured by what we achieve, that the scoreboard is built on output, accumulation, and visible success. But over time, that scoreboard begins to feel incomplete. The questions shift, whether we are ready for them or not. What matters more is not just what we built, but who we helped, what we created that outlasts us, and how we chose to spend our time when no one was keeping score.
From a planning and investing standpoint, this creates an interesting dynamic. If the purpose of a portfolio is simply to grow, then we may be optimizing for a phase of life that has already passed. But if the purpose is to support a life of flexibility, contribution, and intentional living, then the conversation changes. The portfolio becomes less about accumulation for its own sake and more about enabling choices, creating optionality, funding time, and aligning financial resources with personal values. In that sense, the portfolio is no longer the destination. It is a tool that supports the broader objective of living well.
None of this transition is automatic. Letting go of a version of yourself that has worked, often for decades, is not easy. Redefining success without the usual markers can feel disorienting. And confronting the reality that time is finite has a way of sharpening all of those questions at once. But there is also an opportunity within that discomfort. An opportunity to be more intentional about how the next phase is designed, rather than simply drifting into it. If the first half of life is about building wealth, for example, the second half may be about deciding how to use it. Not just for continued growth, but for meaning. Not just for yourself, but for others. And perhaps the real goal is not to stay on the first curve as long as possible, but to recognize when it is time to step onto the second, on your own terms.
If this resonates, or if you are thinking about how your financial life aligns with the life you actually want to live, I would welcome the conversation. And as always, feel free to share this with a friend, colleague, or family member who might benefit from a slightly different perspective on success, goal setting, and planning for what comes next.
