Virtus 👊 #035: The Strange Mathematics of Adult Time and Why I'm Finally Keeping Score
The culture doesn't help. We're swimming in a sea of "optimization" and "growth mindset" and "what's your five-year plan" energy.
There's something fundamentally broken about how we experience time as adults. Six months ago feels like yesterday and a decade simultaneously. I was thinking about this the other day while making coffee—the same coffee I've made thousands of times—and realized that somewhere between childhood and now, time became this slippery thing that just... escapes.
When I was a kid, summer vacation felt infinite. Christmas took forever to arrive. A week was a legitimate chunk of time you could sink your teeth into. Now? I blink and it's June, then I blink again and people are already talking about holiday plans. It's like someone cranked up the speed on life's treadmill, but forgot to tell us we were supposed to adjust our stride.
And here's the really twisted part: the faster time moves, the more we convince ourselves we're accomplishing nothing. It's this weird inverse relationship where the days blur together, and suddenly we're looking at ourselves in the mirror thinking, "What the hell have I actually done with my life besides survive another Tuesday?"
I see this everywhere now. In myself, in my friends, in those late-night conversations where someone inevitably says, "I feel like I'm just treading water." We've become these strange creatures who measure our worth by what we haven't done yet, completely blind to what we've already navigated.
The Tyranny of "What's Next"
I think our brains are fundamentally wired wrong for modern life. We evolved to remember threats, to worry about the next meal, the next predator, the next winter. But now we live in this bizarre reality where our basic needs are met, yet that same survival mechanism keeps running in the background like a broken app, constantly scanning for the next problem to solve, “occupying” Soul’s RAM (Random Access Memory).
So instead of celebrating that we made it through another month, another project, another relationship challenge, we immediately pivot to: "But what about next month? What if the project fails? What if I'm not good enough for the next relationship?"
The culture doesn't help. We're swimming in a sea of "optimization" and "growth mindset" and "what's your five-year plan" energy. LinkedIn is basically one giant anxiety machine disguised as professional networking. Social media shows us everyone else's highlight reel while we're living in our own behind-the-scenes footage. Even self-help culture, which is supposed to make us feel better, often becomes another form of self-flagellation: "Here are seventeen ways you're still not living your best life."
It's exhausting.
The Magic of Right Now (No, Really)
But here's what I've discovered: there are these moments—usually when I'm not trying to discover anything—where I can actually feel how good things are right now. Not perfect, not without problems, but genuinely good.
I have this grounding technique that probably sounds ridiculous, but it works for me. I think about electricity. Like, actually think about it. A hundred years ago, people lived their entire lives and never saw artificial light. They went to bed when the sun went down and woke up when it came up. Now I flip a switch and banish darkness. It's actual magic, and we treat it like it's nothing.
Hot water on demand? My great-grandfather probably took maybe a handful of truly hot baths in his entire life. I can stand under a waterfall of perfectly heated water any time I want. There's a comedian who does this bit about how we're all walking around like hot showers are no big deal, when fifty years ago that was unimaginable luxury.
And sushi. I can eat sushi. Fish that was swimming in the Pacific Ocean a few days ago (hopefully), prepared by someone who learned techniques passed down for centuries, available to me for the price of what my grandfather might have spent on groceries for a week. It's insane when you really think about it.
I have a dentist a phone call away. A pharmacy stocked with both ancient herbal remedies and cutting-edge medicine. I can video call someone on the other side of the planet for free. I live in a time and place where I can choose my career, choose my partner, choose my beliefs, choose what to eat for dinner from literally dozens of options.
I know it sounds cheesy to call it abundance, and honestly, that word makes me a little uncomfortable because it feels pretentious. But we really are living in unprecedented wealth and possibility, even when it doesn't feel that way.
The January Me vs. The June Me
So when I actually take inventory—not the pessimistic "what haven't I done" inventory, but the honest "what has actually happened" inventory—the past six months have been extraordinary.
The person I was in January feels like a different human being. Not because anything dramatic happened, but because of all the small, consistent choices that compound over time. The way I handle stress now. The boundaries I've learned to set. The projects I've shipped. The relationships I've deepened. The habits I've built. The fears I've faced down.
January me was so worried about whether he was doing enough, whether he was on the right path, whether he was falling behind some imaginary timeline. June me still has those moments of doubt, but there's this underlying confidence now that wasn't there before—not arrogance, but a quiet trust that I can handle whatever comes next.
And for the first time in my adult life, I genuinely believe I'm doing the best I can with what I have right now. Not perfect by anyone else's standards, definitely not without room for improvement, but honest-to-god trying my best across all the areas that matter to me.
That's not a small thing. For most of my twenties and a good chunk of my thirties, I carried around this constant low-level guilt that I should be doing more, being more, achieving more. There was always some area where I was falling short, some way I was disappointing myself or others.
The Weird Relief of Self-Acceptance
Don't get me wrong—I still have moments where I catch myself thinking I could have done more, pushed harder, been smarter about some decision. But those thoughts don't stick the way they used to. They're more like weather now: they pass through instead of taking up permanent residence.
Maybe this is what they mean when they talk about maturity. Not becoming some idealized version of yourself, but learning to appreciate the version you actually are. Learning to see your efforts clearly, even when the results aren't perfect. Learning to measure progress in ways that actually matter instead of constantly moving the goalposts.
Because here's the thing: we're all just making it up as we go along. Every single person you admire, every success story you envy, every mentor you look up to—they're all figuring it out day by day, making mistakes, course-correcting, doing their best with incomplete information and limited time.
The difference between thriving and suffering might just be learning to give yourself credit for showing up, for trying, for caring enough to keep going even when it's hard. For recognizing that survival isn't the consolation prize—it's actually the whole game.
Time will keep moving at its weird, accelerated pace. There will always be more to do, more to improve, more to worry about. But maybe, just maybe, we can learn to notice how much we've already done, how far we've already come, how good we already have it.
Right here, right now, in this moment, with hot water and electricity and sushi and the strange privilege of being alive in this particular slice of history—maybe that's enough. Maybe that's everything.
ABOUT MENQUILIBRIUM
We're not life coaches or gurus. Just men walking beside other men on the path to better.
This isn't about fixing you. You're not broken. (I’m obsessing about this).
It's about finding strength in honesty and growth in connection.
What you'll find here:
Real talk, no sugar-coating
Tools that work, not quick fixes
Brothers who get it
Know someone who needs this? Send it their way.
🤜🤛
We rise by lifting others.
Like the sunrise, change happens gradually. We're building a platform where men can find their balance, together. Your support today helps lay the foundation for tomorrow.
Early supporters will receive Founder status when our app launches in late 2025.