“The man I am becoming is not impressed by the man I used to be.”
Recently, a subscriber suggested I write from that constraint.
At first, it felt dismissive. As if growth requires contempt for who I used to be.
But that isn’t how I experience my past. When I look back, I don’t see someone unimpressive. I see someone aiming at a different target each time.
Most of the time, I realize the target has changed only after I’ve already begun adjusting to it.
After my parents’ divorce, I didn’t have ambition.
I just had one goal. To survive the day.
I still remember lying on my bed crying while my mum told me how my dad had treated her during the divorce.
I had no plan, no vision. I focused on getting through school, and getting through conversations.
After finishing high school, my goalposts stayed small.
To get through the day. To complete military service. To compete as a gamer.
It took hitting an emotional roadblock to aim a little higher.
For a while, I thought I wanted to become a doctor. When I didn’t get in, I chose my plan B, which was computer science.
When I started those studies and heard about freshman activities, I wanted to become the “super freshman” of my year.
This goalpost was about proving to myself that I could aim at something and hit, that I wasn’t drifting anymore.
A few years later, during a Christmas break, a woman I had serious feelings for ended things over a phone call.
I felt betrayed.
And ashamed.
Ashamed that someone would leave me. That I could be replaced so easily.
Something in me hardened and forced me to move the goalpost.
Not just to perform well in university, but to become more ambitious altogether.
Within roughly sixteen months of that, I had founded a company.
That goalpost was expansion. To grow, to scale and to add responsibility.
For a while, I chased that successfully.
At least from the outside.
But I didn’t like who I was becoming.
I could do the job. That wasn’t the issue. But I noticed subtle shifts in myself.
I had less patience and more edges.
So I moved the goalpost again. This time it wasn’t further away or higher. It was sideways.
I stepped down as CEO and continued as an employee and chairman of the board.
It felt like the right move.
I wasn’t certain.
I still did it.
The “what if” never fully left.
The shift was about alignment.
Later, after sitting with more of my own emotions, the goalpost moved again.
I wanted to build a family.
This wasn’t about proving anything.
At least not in the same way as before.
Now I’ve set another goalpost. To build something through writing.
A new venture, but different in tone from my earlier ones.
Less about expansion, and more about depth.
Looking at all of this, I don’t think the man I am becoming is unimpressed by who I used to be.
I think each version of me was aiming at what felt necessary at the time.
And every time I have moved a goalpost, I’ve lost something.
Certainty. Identity. Stability.
Looking back, they didn’t move randomly.
Sometimes I was pulled toward something.
And sometimes I just couldn’t stay where I was.
I’m under no illusion that the current version of me is final. This is simply the best I know for right now. I’ll probably move the goalpost again.
When something becomes clearer. Or when something no longer fits.
So maybe the man I am becoming isn’t unimpressed.
Maybe he’s just already looking at a different target.
And if history is any indication, I won’t see it clearly until I’m already aiming at it.
Or until I’m looking back.
I write more like this on The Adaptive Human (Substack)
