Dancing with Time: Wisdom at 55 on Time, Resilience and Renewal

I woke up this morning a few weeks out from my 55th birthday— a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. 55 years. How did that happen? It seems like just yesterday I was celebrating my 30th birthday, full of ambition and certainty about the path ahead. Now I find myself at this curious juncture, not quite old but definitely no longer young, wondering how the pages of my life’s calendar turned so quickly when I wasn’t looking. Was I really that distracted? Or did I live every moment to the fullest?

Do you remember when birthdays were simple celebrations rather than moments of existential reflection? When the passing of time felt like a gentle stream rather than a rushing river? I do. And yet here I am, caught in that universal human experience of wondering where the years went while simultaneously feeling the weight and wisdom they’ve brought.

As I ponder these questions, I’ve come to recognize certain fundamental truths about growing older — little noticings that have emerged as I approach this milestone. They aren’t grand revelations, but rather quiet insights that have settled into my awareness, each one a small pause in the ongoing narrative of my life.

Here is what I noticed as I turned 55:

The acceleration of time

There’s something about reaching this age that makes me acutely aware of time’s strange elasticity. The years between 20 and 30 felt expansive, each one distinct and memorable. Those years were full of challenges, but each one made me wiser and more understanding of what I felt was most important in life. I hiked, climbed, and worked my way through those years, and if I pause long enough, I can almost remember every step I took. But these past fifteen years? They’ve moved with a quickening pace that startles me. It’s as if time itself has accelerated, rushing forward with increasing momentum.

Did the acceleration happen after I had kids, or when I started my business, or met my fiancé? Those are questions I don’t have definitive answers to, but find myself pondering from time to time. I often find myself thinking about this perception of acceleration.

Psychologists suggest this perception isn’t just my imagination — our brains actually process time differently as we age. When we’re young, everything is new, each experience encoded deeply in memory. But as we age and fall into routines, our brains take shortcuts, making time seem to pass more quickly.

This dilemma is one that both worries me and puts me at ease as I lean into the idea that this is just a natural part of aging.

There is value in small pauses

Over the past 10 years or so, I’ve been experimenting with something I’ve come to call “small pauses” — deliberate moments where I step outside the relentless forward motion of life. Inside these pauses, I’ve discovered something remarkable: time expands again. When I truly focus on the moment — the warmth of sunlight on my face, the click of the keyboard in the silence of the early morning, the complex flavour of my morning coffee, the sound of my kids’ laughter when they are talking and showing each other funny Tik-Toks — time seems to slow down, just a little.

Many of us are busy glorifying busyness and productivity, which leads us to overlook the power of these small pauses. We rush from meeting to deadline to social obligation, rarely stopping to notice the actual texture of our lives passing by. We face pressure from every angle, both internally and externally.

Learning to ‘embrace the pause’ has been a game-changer, helping me navigate growing older in a meaningful way.

Taking inventory of the decades is valuable, but not necessary

At 55, I’ve discovered that looking backward holds valuable lessons, but it isn’t always necessary. There’s a certain freedom in realizing I can choose when and how deeply to review the chapters of my life. Some dreams have been realized — the career I worked to build, the family I cherish — while others have transformed into something entirely different from what I’d imagined. This accounting, when I choose to engage in it, brings a bittersweetness — a mixture of pride in the journey and gentle acknowledgment of paths not taken. This freedom to choose when and how to reflect is a powerful tool in navigating the complexities of life.

I sometimes glance at photos from my thirties and forties, struck by how young I actually was while feeling so completely grown-up at the time.

These glimpses into the past offer perspective, not because I need to dwell there, but because they remind me how perception shifts with time.

Will I look back at my current self in fifteen years and think the same thing? Probably. There’s a humbling wisdom in recognizing that our view is always shaped by where we stand, and that’s precisely why taking inventory can illuminate what worked and what didn’t — without becoming a place we need to reside permanently.

A life well lived starts with resilience

What I’m learning at 55, perhaps more profoundly than ever before, is that resilience isn’t just a nice-to-have quality — it’s the foundation of a life well lived. I’ve watched as friends and colleagues who cultivated their inner resources continue to thrive. In contrast, others who neglected this essential work struggle with a pervasive sense of depletion that seems to compound with each passing year.

Resilience, I’ve discovered, requires intentional time and attention. It’s not something we’re simply born with in fixed amounts — it’s a capacity we can develop through small, consistent practices. In my thirties, I could power through weeks of intensity and bounce back quickly. Now, I notice how quickly my energy reserves deplete when I don’t create space for restoration. The margin for neglect has narrowed considerably.

I find myself drawn to moments of stillness where I can reconnect with my deeper resources — a morning meditation, a walk among trees, even the simple act of conscious breathing between meetings. These small pauses aren’t luxuries; they’re essential practices that build the resilience needed to navigate life’s complexities with grace. When I skip them, thinking I’m being more productive, I inevitably end up with less to give, not more.

Have you noticed this too? How the things that seemed optional in youth become non-negotiable as we age? The body and mind keep score in ways they didn’t before. Building resilience isn’t about gritting our teeth and pushing harder — it’s about learning a new relationship with energy, attention, and recovery that honours where we are right now, not where we were at 30.

Stay connected to the young person within

Something I’ve come to treasure at 55 is my conscious connection to the young person I once was — not in the therapeutic sense of inner-child work, but in the vibrant embrace of the curiosity, playfulness, and unbridled enthusiasm that characterized my youth. This isn’t about healing old wounds; it’s about fanning the flame of vitality that still burns within, regardless of the number of candles on our birthday cakes.

I’ve noticed how easy it is to unconsciously adopt what we think “being 55” should look like — more serious, less adventurous, increasingly set in our ways. But what if we deliberately chose otherwise? What if we actively cultivated the qualities that made our younger years so dynamic and engaging? This connection to youthful energy requires intention and practice.

Science behind youthful vitality backs this up — neuroplasticity, our brain’s ability to form new connections, thrives on novelty and challenge. When we engage in new experiences, we literally create new neural pathways. We stay adaptable, flexible, and yes, youthful in our thinking.

So I invite you to ask yourself: What would your 15-year-old self be excited to try right now? What quality from your youth — perhaps spontaneity, creative expression, or physical adventure — could you reintegrate into your life today? The calendar pages may continue turning, but our capacity for wonder, play, and growth remains timeless when we deliberately nurture it.

Time has no time

Perhaps the most profound insight I’ve gained at 55 comes from an unexpected source — the horses I’ve worked with in leadership development. Standing beside these magnificent creatures, I’ve learned a truth that has rippled through every aspect of my life: time has no time.

What does this paradoxical statement mean? Simply that our human fixation on controlling time — scheduling, optimizing, maximizing — often stands in direct opposition to the natural unfolding of what wants to happen. Horses exist in a perpetual present. They don’t rush or delay; they simply are. And in their presence, I’ve learned the subtle but crucial difference between making things happen and allowing things to happen.

In my thirties and forties, I was a master of making things happen. Armed with to-do lists, five-year plans and short and long-term goals, I pushed and prodded my way through life’s terrain, often with impressive results.

But there was always a subtle undercurrent of resistance, a feeling of swimming upstream that I attributed to the natural challenges of ambition.

The horses showed me another way, and I have been working to adopt that into my life ever since. When I approached them with my human agenda and timeline — determined to make progress, achieve outcomes, tick boxes, learn things — they simply didn’t engage. But when I slowed down, dropped into presence, and opened myself to what wanted to emerge between us, something magical happened. Not only did we connect more deeply, but what unfolded was invariably richer and more meaningful than what I had planned. This was a powerful insight.

This principle extends far beyond horsemanship and the arenas in which we learn. My most meaningful professional insights often come not during scheduled brainstorming sessions, but in the shower or on a walk. How relationships deepen not through carefully orchestrated conversations or events but in unexpected moments of authentic connection. How creative projects evolve in surprising directions when I loosen my grip on the outcome and open myself to what is.

At 55, I’m learning to dance with time rather than wrestle it into submission. This doesn’t mean abandoning intention or responsibility. Instead, it means holding my plans lightly, remaining attuned to what’s trying to emerge, and recognizing that some of life’s most precious gifts arrive on their own schedule, not mine.

Have you noticed this too? Those moments when forcing an outcome feels like pushing a boulder uphill, while stepping back and allowing reveals a path you couldn’t have planned? There’s a profound relief in recognizing that not everything depends on our constant effort and control. That sometimes our role is simply to create the conditions for what wants to happen, then get out of its way.

This understanding has served me well through decades of leadership work, creative projects, and personal relationships and parenting. It continues to serve me now as I navigate this curious juncture of 55 — no longer young but not yet old — with its unique blend of energy and wisdom, ambition and acceptance. And I suspect it will serve me even more in the decades ahead, as I continue to discover what it means to age with grace and purpose.

Inside this paradox — time has no time — I’m finding a new relationship with the passing years. Less grasping, more gratitude. Less pushing, more presence. Less fear of missing out, more appreciation for what is. And in that shift, something unexpected is happening: time feels less like an adversary and more like an ally, revealing its gifts in ways I never could have anticipated when I was rushing to make things happen.

The journey continues

So where did all this time go after all? It went exactly where it was meant to — into creating this life I now live, with all its complexity, contradictions, and unexpected gifts. The question itself has transformed for me. Instead of wondering where time went, I find myself asking: How will I choose to be with the time I have now?

The wisdom of 55 years has taught me that while we can’t control time’s passage, we can transform our relationship and ourselves within it. We can build resilience through intentional pauses. We can choose when to take inventory and when to move forward without dwelling on the past. We can fan the flames of youthful vitality regardless of our calendar age. And perhaps most importantly, we can learn to dance with time rather than fight against it — allowing what wants to emerge while still holding our intentions with care.

This milestone birthday has become less about lamenting the speed of passing years and more about appreciating the unique vantage point it offers — one foot in accumulated wisdom, the other in continued becoming. There’s something profoundly liberating about realizing that time isn’t something to conquer or outrun, but rather a medium through which we express who we are and who we’re becoming.

I invite you to join me in this exploration. Whether you’re approaching 55, well beyond it, or still have it waiting on your horizon, these reflections on time and aging offer a way of being that transcends the numbers on our birth certificates. What might shift for you if you embraced the small pause, cultivated resilience, reconnected with your youthful spirit, or allowed things to unfold rather than forcing them?

The adventure doesn’t end at 55 — in many ways, it deepens, becoming richer and more nuanced. The pages continue to turn, but with a newfound appreciation for each one, tattered and with dog-eared corners and all. Time isn’t the enemy I sometimes imagined it to be. It’s the container that holds all possibilities, all connections, all becomings.

And that is the greatest gift of all.

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Hey there! I’m Dave, a Leadership and Life Coach who lives inside the pause in beautiful Ladner, B.C. I’m a proud dad to two incredible kids and blessed to be stepdad to two more amazing souls who teach me daily about presence and possibility.

My journey from corporate burnout to coaching wasn’t planned — it was necessary. In 2017, after hitting the wall as a Senior Manager in local government, I discovered that the small pauses between moments hold more power than the constant motion our culture celebrates. That discovery changed everything.

What makes my approach different? I don’t just help you manage stress — I guide you to transform your relationship with time, presence, and possibility. The small pause isn’t about doing less; it’s about being more intentional in everything you do. My clients don’t just survive their challenges; they discover entirely new ways of seeing their work, relationships, and purpose.

One client described our work together as “finally finding the off switch for my constant mental spinning.” Another shared that “Dave helped me realize I wasn’t actually living my life — I was just reacting to it. Now I’m creating it.”

As an ICF Certified Coach with specialized training from the Newfield Network, a Certified HeartMath® Coach & Mentor, and a trained Equine Guided Learning Facilitator, I bring both heart and science to our work together. My trauma-sensitive approach ensures that every pause feels safe, supportive, and transformative.