Seven Degrees Left of Center

Measuring Differently at 60

At 6:38 this morning, I realized I had actually slept.

That felt like an accomplishment after last night. My brain had been chewing on growth and what I’m supposed to be doing at sixty now that the ladder I climbed for decades isn’t leaning against anything anymore.

While I was thinking, I kept glancing at the guitar in the corner.

My wife gave it to me last Christmas.

I’ve played it once.

It sits there every morning while I drink coffee and type. I try not to look at it too long. It feels like it’s waiting for me to either strum it or admit I’m intimidated by wood and strings.

There was a time when I understood growth. I wore the uniform. If I were moving forward, I could see it. More rank. More responsibility. More weight on my shoulders. Growth meant pressure, and I was good at pressure.

Then life hit reset.

The brain tumor shut down the old dashboard. Retirement followed. Not planned. Not scheduled. Just done. And ever since, I’ve been trying to grade myself with measurements that no longer fit.

How much did I accomplish?
What am I building?
What mountain am I climbing?

When the answers feel smaller than they used to, I tell myself I’m getting dull. Safe, but dull. Like I’ve gone from mission to maintenance.

But this morning it finally occurred to me: I might not be dull. I might just be running a different operating system.

The old one was built for acceleration. Push harder. Do more. Carry more.

This one feels different. It notices when I’m tired. It asks whether something fits before I commit to it. It values clarity over noise.

The biggest change might be self-awareness. I pay attention now in ways I didn’t before. That doesn’t look impressive from the outside. There’s no medal for alignment.

But maybe growth at sixty isn’t about doing more.

Maybe it’s about measuring differently.

The old scoreboard isn’t hanging on the wall anymore.

So I guess it’s time to change the scoreboard.