The Quiet Panic of Wasting Your Life
Why you feel like time is running out (and what to do about it)
Today I did an interval training session that nearly broke me.
The kind where your lungs burn, your legs scream, and every part of you wants to quit.
I’m 38 years old, and when I finished, I stood there gasping, sweat dripping, feeling more alive than I have all week.
This is what I want.
Not comfort. Not routine. Not settling into some middle-aged version of myself that shuffles through life waiting for retirement.
I want to feel this at 50. At 60. I’ll sprint until my body physically stops me.
But most people my age? They’re already preparing to slow down.
They think turning 40 means it’s time to settle. Get comfortable. Accept that the exciting part is over and now it’s just maintenance mode until you die. Stop taking risks. Stop challenging yourself. Just coast.
And then one night, around 47 or 53, they wake up with a crushing feeling in their chest: “Is this it? Is this all there is?”
I know that feeling. I had it at 35.
After another failed relationship, I looked at my life and saw the same patterns repeating endlessly. Same mistakes. Same emptiness. I wasn’t living.
I was going through motions, waiting for something to change while doing nothing to change it.
That panic could have been my end. The moment I accepted that this was just how life would be from now on.
Instead, it became my new beginning.
I didn’t settle. I refused to settle.
I quit drinking after 22 years. Started running seriously. Began writing. Stopped living for other people’s approval and started building a life I actually wanted to wake up in.
And you know what happened?
My last three years felt like ten. Not because time slowed down, but because I finally started paying attention. I remember the moments. The challenges. The small victories. The brutal tempo runs that make me feel alive.
I don’t panic anymore when I ask myself “Is this it?”
Because I know the answer: No. There’s more. Because I’m actively creating more.
Most people panic at 40 because they’ve already stopped living. They settled into comfort and routine, and now they’re watching their life disappear in a blur while asking why nothing good is happening anymore.
I’m 38. I’m not settling. I’m not slowing down. I’m not done.
And neither are you.
When You Decide You’re Too Old
About a year ago, I asked a friend if he wanted to play basketball. I’d gotten a nice ball from New York, it was summer, the weather was perfect.
He laughed at me. “David, I’m not 22 anymore. I’m married. I’m not going to play basketball on the street.”
He’s 42.
This is exactly how it starts.
People have a picture in their mind of what an adult life should look like. And apparently, playing basketball on the street isn’t in that picture after 40.
There are expectations. By 40, you should have the house, the car, the kids. You should have it figured out. And once you’ve checked those boxes, it’s time to slow down.
No more basketball. No more sprints. No learning new languages or picking up new hobbies. Playing piano? Too old for that.
In my gym, I know people who are 38, 39 years old. They tell me all the time: “David, 40 is coming and then everything goes down. You’ll be weak, sick, full of problems.”
It’s like there’s a psychological barrier in people’s minds. At 40, everything challenging, new, and exciting has to stop.
Stability over career risks. Stop dreaming big, be realistic. Accept your life as it is.
But here’s what I see: this isn’t about age. It’s about choice.
At my marathons, there are people over 70 running alongside me and runners half their age.
I truly admire them. They’re taking on a challenge that’s hard even for young people.
You don’t have to become comfortable just because you’re 40. You don’t have to stop just because everyone around you is stopping.
My friend could play basketball. His body works fine. He just decided he’s too old for it.
And that decision, not his age, is what kills him.
What Happens When You Stop
When you settle at 40 (or before, or later), four things happen.
And they all lead to that moment when you ask yourself: Is my life over? Is this it?
1. Time Disappears
Your weeks start blurring together. Monday, Tuesday, Friday, it’s all the same. You can’t remember what you did last month. The year flies by in what feels like a few weeks.
This isn’t just a feeling. Research shows that routine activities don’t form strong memories. When you do the same things every day, your brain stops encoding them as distinct experiences. It’s like in the movie Fight Club: everything becomes a copy of a copy of a copy.
Novel experiences, on the other hand, create vivid memories that make time feel longer.
Think about it: Why did a week of vacation feel longer than three months of work? Because vacation was new. Every day was different. Your brain was paying attention.
But when you settle? Same commute. Same desk. Same conversations. Same weekend routine. Your brain goes on autopilot. And when you look back, there’s nothing to remember. The time just, disappeared.
My friend who won’t play basketball? His weeks are identical. Work, home, TV, sleep, repeat. He’ll be 50 in eight years and won’t remember a single week from his 40s.
My last three years felt like ten because I broke the routine. New challenges. New races. New experiences. Every week had something distinct. Something my brain actually bothered to remember.
When you stop trying new things, time doesn’t just speed up. It vanishes.
2. Nothing Satisfies Anymore
Even when good things happen, a promotion, a vacation, a new purchase, they stop feeling special after a few days. You adapt. The excitement fades. You’re back to wanting more.
Psychologists call this hedonic adaptation. Your brain is wired to adjust to both good and bad circumstances. What once felt amazing becomes your new normal. And your new normal always feels, normal.
This is why people who settle are never satisfied. They got the house, the car, the job. But it all stopped feeling good. Now what? Just more of the same, forever?
When you combine routine with hedonic adaptation, you get a life where nothing excites you. Same weekends that used to be fun now feel boring. Same relationship that used to bring joy now feels like roommates. Same job that you once worked hard to get now feels like a prison.
The problem isn’t that your life is bad. It’s that nothing in it feels alive anymore.
My tempo training is a perfect example. It’s hard. But the satisfaction doesn’t fade. Because it’s not a one-time thing I’m adapting to, it’s an ongoing challenge that demands my full attention every time. When you build something, the satisfaction doesn’t fade either, because there’s an endless variety of challenges you need to overcome.
Doing hard things regularly sustains your satisfaction. Comfort, on the other hand, is more likely to kill it.
3. Regret Starts Building
Here’s what the research on regret reveals: when people look back on their lives, their biggest regrets aren’t about mistakes they made. They’re about things they didn’t do.
The risks they didn’t take. The dreams they didn’t pursue. The person they never became.
You can rationalize a mistake. “I tried, it didn’t work, I learned something.” But you can’t rationalize never trying. The “what might have been” haunts you forever.
There’s a reason people in Bhutan think about death three times daily and report higher happiness. Remembering our time is finite makes us stop postponing life. As Benjamin Franklin said: “Many young men die at age 25, but are not buried until they’re 75.”
When you settle at 40, you enter inaction mode. You stop taking risks. Stop trying new things. Stop pursuing anything that scares you. And every year you spend in that mode is another year you’ll regret.
Not because you did something wrong. Because you didn’t do anything at all.
The panic at 3am isn’t “I made too many mistakes.”
It’s “I didn’t LIVE. I just existed. And now years are gone.”
My friend who won’t play basketball? In ten years, he won’t regret playing and looking foolish. He’ll regret that he stopped playing. That he let fear and social expectations turn him into someone who doesn’t do anything fun anymore.
Inaction regret is the worst kind. Because you’ll never know what could have been.
4. You Lose Your Edge
There’s another cost to settling that’s less obvious but just as destructive.
Research on well-being shows two types of living: hedonic (pleasure-seeking, comfort, avoiding pain) and eudaimonic (growth, challenge, meaning). Both can bring happiness in the short term. But here’s the difference:
Hedonic living, constant comfort seeking, actually lowers your self-control over time. The more you avoid discomfort, the weaker you become. Mentally, emotionally, physically.
EEudaimonic living, pursuing growth and meaning even when it is hard, builds your self-control. Makes you stronger, more capable, more resilient.
When you settle at 40, you choose hedonic living. Comfort. Ease. Avoiding anything difficult. You’re not cold anymore. You’re not really hungry anymore. You don’t have to fight through difficult situations.
And you get weaker.
Not just your body (though that too). Your mind. Your willpower. Your capacity to handle hard things.
Then one day you wake up and realize: you can’t do hard things anymore. You’ve spent years avoiding discomfort, and now even small challenges feel impossible.
My lifestyle isn’t just about fitness. It’s about maintaining my capacity to suffer. To push through discomfort. To stay hard. I see the difference in my own capacity. Tasks that used to overwhelm me now feel manageable because I’ve built my tolerance for difficult things. When you avoid discomfort for years, even small challenges become mountains.
The Result
Time vanishes. Nothing satisfies. Regret builds. You get weaker.
And then the panic: “Is this it? Is this all there is?”
Yes. If you’ve stopped living, this is all there is. Because you chose comfort over life.
But it doesn’t have to be.
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How to Refuse to Settle
You don’t need to blow up your life. You don’t need to quit your job, move to Bali, or buy a motorcycle.
You just need to refuse to settle and get too comfortable.
Here’s how:
1. Reject the Age Narrative
The first step is simple: stop believing the story that life ends at 40, 50, or 60.
It doesn’t. That’s just what scared people tell themselves to justify quitting.
My friend won’t play basketball because he’s “not 22 anymore.” But his body works fine. He could play. He just decided he can’t.
Your body ages. That’s real. But your mind doesn’t have to. And this is extremely important.
People tell me I’m not mature enough, that I have Peter Pan syndrome because I don’t own a car, wear a suit, or have a wife and children. Society tries to convince me I’m behind, that I’m wrong, that I should think and behave like a man approaching 40. Maybe they’re right. But I’m going against those expectations anyway.
I’m 38. I run faster now than I did at 30. I’m stronger, healthier, and fitter. More disciplined. More capable. Because I didn’t accept the narrative that I should slow down and be like many men my age.
You get to choose. Are you “too old” for that thing? Or have you just decided you are?
2. Choose Discomfort Over Comfort
Most people wouldn’t believe this, but there’s not much more rewarding than accomplishing something very hard. I have training sessions where my mind screams to quit. I hear all the questions in the back of my head:
Why are you doing this? You’re not paid for this! You could be home eating something delicious. You could be home on your couch.
When your mind starts talking to you and questioning why you’re doing the thing you’re doing, you’re on the right path. Andrew Huberman had a conversation with David Goggins about doing hard things regularly, and he said there are areas in our brain that change positively when we fight through. It makes us more resilient.
Comfort, on the other hand, makes you soft. Weak. Unable to handle hard things.
You don’t have to do tempo training. But you need something that makes you uncomfortable. Something that requires effort. Something you can’t just coast through.
Learn a language. Take up a sport. Start a side project. Do something that scares you. Take a trip alone. Make that video you always wanted.
Because the alternative is slow death by comfort.
3. Break the Routine
Remember why time disappears? Routine.
Your brain stops encoding memories when every day is the same. That’s why years fly by in a blur.
The solution: break the routine. Intentionally.
Take a different route to work. Try a new sport class in your gym. Go to a place you’ve never been. Learn something new. Do anything that’s not what you did last week.
And most importantly, plan your actions. Forget about spontaneity. You will not do anything if you are waiting for a friend to call about going to that concert. Nobody will sign you up for that new high-intensity interval training class at your gym. Do it on your own, intentionally. Every time I see those faces after high-intensity interval training at my gym, they are smiling. Tired, but happy.
My last three years felt like ten because I kept breaking routines. New races in different countries and cities. New experiences. Every week had something distinct. I have a long list of things (you can call it a bucket list) I want to try, travel to, or experience.
I saw all my favorite bands live in the last three years. Not because people invited me, but because I sat down, found tickets, and made it happen.
If you want time to slow down, give your brain something to remember.
4. Take Action (Any Action)
Research on regret is clear: long-term regrets are about what you didn’t do, not what you did.
The things you’ll regret at 60 aren’t your failures. They’re the risks you never took. The dreams you never pursued. The life you never tried to live.
So take action. Any action.
Start the project. Ask the question. Try the thing.
You might fail. You might look foolish. But you won’t regret trying. You’ll only regret not trying.
I quit drinking at 37.
Quit smoking at 35.
Signed up for a marathon at 37.
Asked for another promotion at 38.
With my default mindset that always says “I’m not good enough,” these required courage. And I don’t regret them. I’d regret never trying.
What’s the thing you keep putting off? Do it this week. Even badly. Even imperfectly.
Action reduces future regret. Inaction creates it.
5. Keep Goals That Scare You
Most people stop setting real goals after 40. They “be realistic.” They lower their expectations. They settle for maintenance.
Don’t.
I want to sprint at 50. At 60. That goal scares me. My body might not cooperate. I might fail.
When I started running marathons, I asked myself which ones I wanted to run. I haven’t run the marathon in my own city, but I ran the TCS Sydney Marathon.
Because in my mind, I had this question: What are the biggest, most prestigious marathons in the world? Not in my own country or city, but in the world. I don’t limit myself to the small ones. The not-too-scary ones. I want to be scared but stand at the starting line of the Boston Marathon. I want to run the Tokyo Marathon.
In 2016, I had the goal to travel to 44 countries in one year. Everyone laughed at me. I didn’t hit 44, but I visited 16 countries in one year. Think about that.
Having these big goals keeps me alive. It gives me something to work toward. Something to measure myself against. I don’t want to retire. I want to be fit, healthy, and continue working and being useful for myself and for other people around me. I can’t imagine sitting at home as a retired, weak old man not doing anything anymore.
What’s your scary goal?
The one you’re too embarrassed to say out loud because people will tell you to “be realistic”?
Set it anyway. Ask yourself: what is the first, smallest possible step in the direction to achieve that goal?
You need something pulling you forward. Something that requires you to grow. Otherwise, you’re just maintaining what you have until you die.
6. Pay Attention
This is the simplest and hardest one.
Pay attention to your life. You need to become aware of what and why you’re doing every single day. I completely eliminated fluff time. It doesn’t mean I don’t chill on the couch and scroll my phone. Of course I do. But I do it intentionally, I set one hour for it, not brainlessly the whole afternoon.
When you eat, taste the food. When you talk to someone, listen. When you run, feel your body.
My last three years felt long because I paid attention. I planned deliberately. I wasn’t scrolling through life on autopilot. I was present. I ask myself every day: what is the plan for today? What do I want to do tomorrow? Planning more is also paying attention more.
Time doesn’t have to fly by. It flies by when you’re not paying attention.
Be here. Now. In this moment. Not in your head worrying about tomorrow or replaying yesterday.
Just be here.
7. Stay in Growth Mode
Most people switch from growth mode to maintenance mode at 40.
They stop trying to improve. They just try to maintain what they have.
Job? Maintain. Body? Maintain. Relationships? Maintain. Life? Maintain.
This is death.
You’re either growing or dying. There’s no maintenance. That’s an illusion.
I’m still trying to get faster, asking myself where my limit is. Last week I ran and realized I’d never run so fast for so long before. My body still adapts to higher speed.
I read new books. I learn about writing, marketing, hiking, filmmaking, longevity, health, fitness, and history. I’m reading The Comfort Crisis now. After that, I’ll read Why We Sleep.
At 38, I’m in growth mode.
Will I be slower at 60 than at 38? Probably. But I’ll be faster at 60 than if I’d settled at 40.
The question isn’t “Can I keep improving forever?” It’s “Am I trying to improve today?”
Stay in growth mode. Always.
Don’t Wait for Your Body to Stop You
We all grew up with the same image of aging.
Slowing down. Sitting in a wooden chair by the fire. Waiting.
Most people would paint a similar picture if you asked them to imagine getting old. Gray hair, tired body, quiet life. Done.
But that image isn’t reality. It’s just a story we’ve been told so many times we believe it.
We have far more potential than we think. We put hidden limitations on ourselves and never dare to ask: What else am I capable of? What could I still achieve?
I started asking those questions. And I’m not stopping until my body forces me to.
Not because I’m special. Because I refuse to settle.
You can do the same.
You have one life. One chance to see what you’re capable of. One opportunity to live fully instead of just existing.
The quiet panic you feel at 3am? That’s your wake-up call.
Don’t ignore it. Don’t suppress it. Don’t tell yourself “this is just how life is now.”
Answer it.
Start today. Not Monday. Not next month. Not when things settle down.
Today.
Go get your dreams. While you still can.
Thanks for sticking with me through this one. If you’re going through something similar, or have your own experience with this, drop a comment. I read every one. — David
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So true... that's exactly how it starts
I appreciate this perspective a lot. The question, “Am I trying to improve today?”…cuts through the fear and the timelines. Growth mode as a way of living, not an age-dependent phase.
Great article! 💛