How to never grow old
Allowing yourself to become intellectually dead is a choice
“I just paid $3,000 to miss my kid’s first birthday!”
The day was October 6th, 2015. The place was a random hotel lobby in Costa Rica. I’d flown there from Spain expecting to attend a hearing in my feeble attempt to get back the $250,000 my business partner’s dad had stolen from me half a decade prior.
It was my third trip in as many years. I couldn’t believe my attorney was now telling me I’d need to make it a fourth as the hearing had been canceled an hour before I was set to take the stand.
“How’s this so complicated?” I snapped. “The dude changed the deed of my property with an eraser and pencil and sold it out from under me. I’ve got a football team of witnesses ready to go. He’s tried to bribe judges in front of other judges to drop the case!”
“You knew this would be a mess,” my dad who’d traveled from the US to meet me said in a surprisingly soft tone. He then shook my attorney’s hand, thanked him for his time, and turned to me and said, “Let’s go. There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
All the time and money I’d lost traveling to get here.
Having to watch my son blow out his first candle on video.
The hard reminder that I’d never see those $250,000.
Frustrated wasn’t the word. Livid didn’t do it justice. The thoughts pounded my head. Again. And again. And again. Just as my blood was beginning to compete with the unrelenting Central American mid-morning heat, my dad grabbed me by the shoulder as we waited for the elevator, looked me dead in the eye, and said something that turned me immediately to ice.
“I wasn’t going to come down here with you,” he began. “But your mother asked me to tell you something in person. I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to say it — your mother is sick.”
I don’t remember how many times the elevator door opened and closed as I stood there completely and utterly stoned. Nor do I remember how I managed to get to our room once I figured out how to use my legs again. I blacked out. I lost at least an hour. But one thing I do remember — and something I hope I never forget — is the conversations my dad and I shared thanks to my mom reminding me that afternoon to focus on the good.
My dad and I hadn’t seen each other for a few years. It’d been at least a decade since it was just the two of us alone together. We talked about everything. We talked about nothing. Some of the time we didn’t talk at all. But mainly, given my mom’s condition, the conversation kept making its way back to life and what it means to live a good one.
I hated the circumstances. But my dad said some really smart things that day. This is particularly true when he began talking about the realities of getting older as he said the following words that hit me equally hard in both my head and heart—
“The saddest part about getting older for me is seeing how intellectually dead some of my friends have chosen to become.”
“Intellectually dead!”
I’m yet to come across a more impactful warning.
He then went on to tell me that it was as if the day Cal Ripken retired from baseball, some of his friends had chosen to retire from life. They barely leave their house. They talk to fewer and fewer people. They never pick up a book. As a result, instead of chasing the day, both their bodies and minds have begun to wither away.
My dad and I don’t always see eye to eye. But at the moment, while he stared off into space and my eyes were locked on him, despite sitting on opposite sides of the bed, I’d never felt closer to him.
It was only one sentence. A throw-away line at the end of a conversation. But sometimes that’s all it takes.
I finally understood why he got so angry when I chose the sofa over the front door.
I finally understood why he got so frustrated when I prioritized my excuses over my possibilities.
I finally understood why he got so impatient when I gave more power to the words of others over following my internal signal.
Life isn’t about being the smartest, strongest, or most popular person in the room. Nor is it about collecting fancy titles and accumulating enough money to fly to the moon.
Life’s about learning a new something, meeting a new someone, and seeing a new somewhere.
It’s about putting yourself out into the world and fighting for what you love while getting excited about what you don’t yet know.
Choosing to be intellectually alive has become my only marching order. It’s my primarly job. Everything I do revolves around it. Everything else is meaningless without it.
It serves as a reminder to listen as hard as I can.
It serves as a reminder to learn as hard as I can.
It serves as a reminder to care as hard as I can.
Nine years have passed since the day my dad and I had that conversation. My life is different today than it was back then. My artistic side began to rise while my business ambitions began to die.
I followed that scent.
I write words for a living now. I help other people to do the same.
I have nothing against business. I’m just happier this way. I love that art’s the great connector and there’s nothing I’d rather do each day than figure out how to build a better bridge.
Pick up a book. Pick up the phone. Pick up a new hobby. Never stop learning about the world and the people around you.
My now cancer-free mom said it best shortly after receiving her diagnosis —
“Curiosity is a word that was meant to be followed. It keeps us interested. It keeps us interesting. Most of all, no matter your age, it’ll keep you young!”
If you enjoyed this, you may like my new book. It’s jam-packed with stories and actionable tips to create your own green lights in life.
Here’s what Cal Newport (NYT best-selling author of Deep Work and Slow Productivity) had to say about it —
“In a world that lionizes loudness, it's actually the quiet and shy among us who are best set up to thrive. Michael Thompson provides an important new way of understanding what it really takes to stand out!”
Shy by Design: 12 Timeless Principles to Quietly Stand Out
Thank you for reading.
My best to you and yours.
— Michael
Life without creative expression seems to be wasted.
"Life’s about learning a new something, meeting a new someone, and seeing a new somewhere. . . Pick up a book. Pick up the phone. Pick up a new hobby. Never stop learning about the world and the people around you."
Michael, you may have paid $3000 to miss your kid's first birthday to try to get back your $250K, and what you got instead was a priceless human connection with your father that led to a lifetime of making human connections in your future. What I love about you is that you know how blessed you are for having had this experience, and you share it so generously with others.
I very much look forward to your next book, whether it is "my parents are right" or something else entirely. I'll likely devour every word like fine dark chocolate.
This week I am working on formatting a book for my mom's Daughter's of the American Revolution chapter. In reading the stories of dozens of patriots and their descendants, I am in awe of all the ways these elders are intellectually alive. These women, most of them in their 90s, are sharing the stories of their ancestors past as wisdoms for the generations futures. They remind me of writers here on substack, like Abigail Thomas. I wanna be like them when I grow up.