Somewhere, sometime in life, the desire for change slows down. It doesn’t happen with a bang, but rather with a whisper that grows louder over time. It doesn’t have a clear start date, but suddenly you notice that what used to drive you – that burning thirst for novelty, for more – has taken on a different form.
When I was young, I wanted change every single day. I sought the unknown, uprooted myself regularly, and embraced uncertainty with a naive belief that it always held something better. I wanted more – always. The world felt too small, and possibilities too many to settle for just one thing.
But now, with 60+ years of life behind me, my relationship to change has transformed. Today, constant change often feels like the road to poor decisions – choices made in haste, out of restlessness, rather than grounded intention.
The Cost of Restlessness
I’ve lived a rich and exciting life. I’ve thrown myself into new jobs, projects, relationships, and countries. It has given me experiences I wouldn’t trade for anything. But I’ve also come to understand the cost. That restlessness – which I once wore like a badge of honor – sometimes took me away from what truly mattered. Relationships left undeveloped. Projects abandoned too early. A growing inner fatigue I tried to ignore.
When Change Becomes Something We Examine – Not Chase
It’s not that I’ve become fearful. I can still change my life. But now I choose my battles with greater care. Change has gone from being a need to being a tool. I use it when it truly matters – not as a reflex, but as a deliberate choice.
What I used to call freedom, I sometimes now recognize as escape. What I called courage may have been an unwillingness to stay and work through the difficult. There is another kind of bravery in staying put, in building something slowly, in facing the silence.
The Sound of Silence
Today, I prefer short encounters with people rather than constant socializing. I still enjoy good conversation, but I’ve come to deeply appreciate the stillness in between. The deafening silence that doesn’t just surround me – it heals me. Where thoughts can echo without interference. Where nothing needs to be said. Where I can just be.
And it is in the mountains that I find this peace. In the steps, in the breathing, in the vast horizon, I feel alive without having to chase anything. The mountains demand nothing from me – only presence. And in that presence, everything becomes enough.
From External Change to Inner Growth
I haven’t stopped changing – but change has moved inward. It’s no longer new places I seek, but new layers within myself. How I handle pain. How I respond to conflict. How I forgive – both others and myself.
It’s here, on the inner journey, that the most meaningful growth happens. And it doesn’t stop with age. Quite the opposite – it deepens. Because when we stop running, we start understanding.
I now know what I need to feel well. Not what others think I should want, or what society expects from me. But what truly grounds me. And it’s no longer constant motion. It’s simplicity. Stillness. Silence.
Looking Back – and Forward
In hindsight, I see a man who sometimes moved on too quickly. Who may have been looking for something he already had, but didn’t dare stop long enough to see. But I don’t judge him. He did what he had to do back then. It was his way of surviving, growing, understanding.
And that’s why I can now – older, wiser – feel gratitude that my desire for change has matured. It’s not gone. It’s just no longer desperate.
I still change. But with a different rhythm. A different base. A deeper respect for what is worth changing – and what is worth keeping.
Advice to My Younger Self
If I could sit down with my younger self, I would say:
Don’t run away from yourself.
Don’t always try to fill the emptiness with something new. Learn to sit with it. To listen. To breathe.
And above all – understand that silence is not your enemy. It’s your friend. It has things to teach you that can’t be heard over the noise of constant movement.
In Summary
We all change. But with age, we understand that change isn’t always synonymous with growth. Sometimes, it’s in the stillness that we learn the most. In the moments when we don’t flee, but stay. When we stop chasing “the next” and start seeing what we already have.
For me, life is no longer about adding more. It’s about creating space. For stillness. For deeper conversations. For silent walks in the mountains. For breaths that don’t need to be rushed.
And maybe that insight – that change itself has changed – is the most beautiful transformation of all.
By Chris...
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