Reflections in the 40s — Part 7 - The Art of Letting Go

 One of the most subtle but powerful shifts in my 40s has been learning the art of letting go. Not as an act of giving up, but as an act of growing up.

In earlier years, I carried far too much — old ambitions, outdated definitions of success, unresolved expectations, and even versions of myself that no longer fit who I was becoming. I held on because I thought persistence was strength. I believed that if I let something go, it meant I had failed. But life has a gentle way of teaching us that holding on is sometimes heavier than moving on.

Letting go is an emotional decluttering. It creates space — mentally, emotionally, spiritually — for what truly matters now, not what mattered five, ten, or twenty years ago. It means releasing the pressure to live up to who you once were, or who others expected you to be.

Letting go doesn’t mean detachment. It means acceptance. It doesn't mean disrespecting the past. It means honouring the future.

It’s letting go of roles that no longer align with your inner compass.

Letting go of goals that belonged to a younger version of you.

Letting go of the need to control outcomes that are not yours to control.

Most importantly, it’s letting go of narratives — those stories we tell ourselves about who we “should” be. When we release those stories, we make room for who we could be. The more I’ve embraced letting go, the lighter life has begun to feel. Not easier, but clearer. When your hands stop gripping the past, they become free to build something meaningful in the present. Letting go isn’t a single moment. It’s a skill, a muscle, a practice. And often, it’s the very act that unlocks the next phase of growth.

Because in the long run, we don’t rise by holding on — we rise by releasing what no longer serves us.

Reflections in the 40s — Part 6 - Steady Over Quick

 If my younger years had a theme, it was speed. Everything needed to happen fast — results, promotions, success, even personal milestones. Quick progress felt like proof that I was “on track.” Slow felt like failure. But somewhere along the way — especially in my 40s — I realised that speed is often overrated, and steadiness is deeply underrated.

Quick wins are exciting, but they rarely endure. They give you a high, but not a foundation. Steady progress, on the other hand, is quiet. It doesn’t make noise or announce itself. But it keeps moving — step by step, habit by habit, choice by choice.

The most meaningful things in life grow slowly:

– Trust

– Strong relationships

– Mastery

– Financial stability

– Health

– Reputation

– Self-confidence

Nothing valuable builds overnight. Everything worthwhile compounds.

Earlier, I used to admire people who achieved things quickly. Now, I admire those who can stay with something long enough to make it meaningful. People who show up year after year — who don’t get bored by repetition, who don’t abandon the work when the novelty fades. 

Steadiness isn’t the absence of ambition. In fact, it’s ambition with patience. It’s the confidence that you don’t need to sprint because you’re building for the long term. It’s choosing sustainability over adrenaline. It’s trusting the compounding effect of small steps taken consistently.

Life has also taught me this: quick progress can often be reversed quickly. But steady growth becomes part of who you are.

Today, I no longer chase “fast.” I chase “forever.”

Because in almost every important area of life, steady beats quick — every single time.

Reflections in the 40s - Part 5 - Daily Discipline Over Inspiration

 In my 20s and early 30s, I relied a lot on inspiration. The “motivated” days felt powerful — I could accomplish more in a few hours than on an entire ordinary day. It felt intoxicating, almost magical. But the problem was simple: inspiration never showed up on time. It came when it wanted, vanished when life got busy, and couldn’t be summoned on command.

Somewhere in my 40s, I began to understand a quiet but profound truth — the real engine of progress isn’t inspiration, it’s discipline.

Discipline doesn’t care about mood. It doesn’t wait for the perfect morning. It doesn’t depend on bursts of emotion.

Discipline is boring. It’s repetitive. It’s unglamorous. But it’s also unbelievably powerful.

Daily discipline is waking up and doing the work even when nothing feels exciting. It’s exercising on the days you’d rather skip. It’s writing even when the words don’t flow. It’s showing up for family, commitments, and routines with consistency, not drama.

Inspiration pushes you for a day. Discipline carries you for decades.

What I’ve learned is that discipline builds trust — not with others, but with yourself. When you keep a promise to yourself every day, you slowly build the confidence that you can handle bigger things. Small habits start compounding. Progress becomes steady instead of sporadic.

And ironically, when you stay disciplined long enough, inspiration begins to appear more often — not as a spark, but as a byproduct of momentum.

At this stage of life, I’ve realised I don’t need intense days. I need consistent ones.

Because in the long run, it’s not the dramatic efforts that change your life, but the quiet, daily ones.

Reflections in the 40s — Part 4 - Being Intentional

 In my younger years, life largely moved on momentum. Opportunities came, I said yes. People reached out, I responded. Work demanded attention, and I poured myself into it. It wasn’t wrong — it was just unfiltered enthusiasm, powered more by energy than clarity.

But as the years passed — especially stepping into my 40s — I began to understand the quiet power of being intentional. Today, intention has become a filter. A compass. A way of deciding not just what I do, but what I don’t.

Time, energy, attention — they are finite. And yet, most of us give them away casually, as if they replenish automatically. But being intentional means asking a simple question before committing to anything — “Does this matter to me?”

It means choosing deep, meaningful conversations over endless small talk. Prioritising relationships that nourish rather than drain. Working on projects that align with who you are becoming — not who you once were. It means protecting your mornings if they set the tone for your day. It means saying no — without guilt — when something doesn’t fit your priorities. It means living life consciously instead of reactively.

The world rewards speed and productivity. But intention brings something deeper — alignment. And alignment brings peace, clarity, and progress that feels like it belongs to you, not to expectations set by others.I’ve learned that a life lived intentionally isn’t slower — it’s sharper, more focused, more meaningful.

We cannot control everything life throws our way. But we can choose how deliberately we respond, where we invest, and what we hold close.

In the end, intention is not about doing less — it’s about doing what truly matters. And that changes everything.