We’re Up Next
A Wake-Up Call for the Second Half of Life
This is part of my summer-long series on self-reflection.
There’s something many of us think about occasionally but rarely dive into deeply: the realization that we’re up next. We’re at bat—not in sports, but in life.
Maybe it’s because our brains are wired to keep moving forward, rarely pausing to zoom out. But sometimes, the moment arrives when you do. For me, that moment is now.
I’ve always loved movies that step back and look at the big picture—films that reflect on time, purpose, and what it all means. Summer of '42 and American Graffiti come to mind—those coming-of-age stories filled with promise and recklessness, innocence and truth. I’ve always been drawn to those stories.
Then came the decades of building. We built careers, raised kids, cared for causes, and kept things going. For many of us, those years were a blur—20 years of joy, struggle, memory-making, heartbreak, laughter, and exhaustion. Life, in all its fullness.
After that? The caretaking years. The phase where we began managing our parents' aging. For a while, they were just older. Then, gradually, it shifted—doctor visits, sudden diagnoses, recoveries, decline. If you’ve walked this road, you know it can be long, complicated, and often heartbreaking. Eventually, there’s no one left ahead of you.
And that’s what this piece is about:
We’re at the plate now.
It hit me hard recently. As the oldest sibling, I looked around and realized: I’m it. No generational buffer. No one left to go first.
If you're reading this and lucky enough to still be here, you're up too.
And if you’re younger—20s, 30s, 40s—read this as a heads-up: start now.
This summer has been a season of awakening. I’ve written about this already—processing the loss of my parents, handling the emotional and logistical aftermath, watching my daughter get married, preparing for my stepson to head off to college. It’s been a summer of reflection—of endings and beginnings.
And while it’s been hard at times, there’s a gift on the other side:
This is our time.
We get to decide what matters now. We’ve earned that. No more waiting, no more procrastinating, no more distractions. By now, we’ve built up enough tools in our toolbelt to handle just about anything—and to know that we’ll be okay.
There’s a strange kind of freedom that comes with this moment. In earlier phases, there was always a looming question:
Will I make it?
Will I be a good parent?
Will I earn enough to provide?
Now, for many of us, those questions are behind us.
The new question is this:
What will we do with the time that’s left?
That answer will be different for each of us. But if you’re fortunate to have your health, some financial stability, and someone who loves you—that’s a powerful foundation.
I know we live in difficult times. Our country is a mess right now. But I believe we’re in the midst of a generational transformation—the kind that happens every 80 years or so. It’s not fun. I’ve been engaged, writing, speaking out, standing up. But I also know I need to stay grounded in what I can control. And that’s very little—but it’s worth it.
You might expect me to hand you some answers. I don’t have them.
But I do have my list—my now list. What matters most to me at this stage of life:
Take care of my health the best I can
Experience love fully—being in a loving relationship is a gift
Connect with family and friends I enjoy as often as possible
Live with intention every day
Stay grateful for meaningful work, and be financially wise
Act on the causes that matter to me—now, not later
Keep my home in order—it’s a gift to have one
Share stories and lessons with the next generation
Spend time with the natural world—trees, ocean, land. They hold wisdom.
Balance caring deeply about the world with knowing when to let go
Be okay with not needing a million fake friends or constant approval
Travel, meet people, and learn from cultures different from my own
I’ll never forget something I wrote last year that meant a lot to my Aunt Joan:
"How many summers do we have left?"
She told me this spring how much she loved that line—and that she was living it.
She passed away two weeks later.
So here’s the math:
If the average lifespan is 85, and you’re 65, you’ve got 20 summers left.
Maybe 15 of them active ones. Maybe more, maybe less, who knows, right?
Healthspan vs. Lifespan.
Count them. Live them. What are we waiting for?
If you’re younger—don’t wait.
Don’t wait for permission. Don’t wait for “later.”
The years between 25 and 65 go by in a blink. Ask anyone.
Forget what society says you should do.
Do what you want to do.
The people who truly love you will support you.
The ones who judge you for your politics, your passions? Let them go.
I’ve learned this the hard way. The people who matter will show up when it counts. The rest won’t. So screw it.
We don’t need 1,000 fake friends.
We need a few real ones.
So be yourself. Be real.
And most of all—be here. Right now.
We’re up next.
Let’s take the swing.
Here’s my action list—the things I plan to spend my time doing:
Teach students at UConn for as long as my health and the university allow
Experience daily life and travel with my incredible wife, here and around the world
Support causes that touch my heart: Surfrider Foundation and OneOceanHawaii
Get to the ocean as much as I can
Enjoy—and fix up—our home in Connecticut
What’s your list?
Write it down.
Then go live it.