Am I present?

I used to think that work-life balance was something you figured out in your twenties or thirties, something that clicked into place once you had the right job, the right routine, the right mindset. But now, in my forties, I realize that balance is not a static goal—it's a constant battle, a series of adjustments and compromises that never quite settle into an easy rhythm.

When I was younger, the demands of work felt different. There was a drive, a hunger to prove myself, to climb the ladder, to make an impact. Late nights and early mornings were just part of the deal, and I took pride in the hustle. I didn't have the same responsibilities outside of work—no mortgage, no kids depending on me, no aging parents needing care. I could throw myself into my career without feeling like I was neglecting something else.

But now? Now, the demands are everywhere, and they feel heavier. I have a wife and kids who need my attention, a house that always seems to need maintenance, and a job that doesn't let up. There's this constant push and pull, a feeling that I'm always failing in one area or another. If I dedicate more time to work, I feel guilty about missing out on my kids' lives. If I try to prioritize family, I worry that I'm not giving my job the focus it requires in an increasingly competitive workplace.

The world of work has changed, too. The expectation to always be "on" is suffocating. Emails don't stop after 5 p.m.; messages ping on my phone late at night and early in the morning. There's an unspoken rule in many workplaces that if you're not responding quickly, you're falling behind. Even vacations aren't truly vacations anymore—I find myself sneaking in time to check emails or take calls because the thought of coming back to a mountain of work is unbearable.

I see younger colleagues thriving in this always-connected environment, and I wonder if I've just aged out of it. They seem to handle the pace better, perhaps because they've never known anything different. But for me, having grown up in a time when work stopped when you left the office, this shift is exhausting. My brain never fully shuts off, and the stress lingers even when I'm trying to be present with my family.

The biggest struggle, though, is energy. In my twenties, I could pull an all-nighter, work a 12-hour day, and still have the stamina to go out with friends. Now, just getting through the workday sometimes feels like an accomplishment. The exhaustion isn't just physical—it's mental, emotional. I wake up already thinking about deadlines and meetings, and by the time I get home, I'm spent. But there's no real downtime because the responsibilities don't end when I clock out. There's homework to help with, dishes to wash, bills to pay, relationships to nurture.

I've tried to set boundaries, to carve out real personal time, but it's easier said than done. There's guilt attached to saying no to extra work, to missing a meeting, to not being the first to respond to an email. There's guilt on the other side, too—missing a school play, forgetting an anniversary, realizing I haven't had a meaningful conversation with my wife in weeks. And there's no real solution, just a constant attempt to do better, to adjust, to find a moment of peace in the chaos.

One of the hardest parts of all this is the loneliness. Everyone is busy, everyone is struggling in their own way, but we don't talk about it much. Men, in particular, aren't great at admitting when they're overwhelmed. There's this lingering expectation to just deal with it, to keep moving, to be the provider and protector without letting anyone see the cracks. I've felt the weight of that pressure, the need to hold everything together even when I feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water.

I try to take care of myself—I exercise when I can, I make an effort to eat well, I've even dabbled in meditation. But self-care often feels like just another task on an endless to-do list. The reality is that I don't have the same time or energy to dedicate to myself as I once did, and I have to accept that. The best I can do is find small moments—an early morning walk, an hour to read a book, a quiet drive where I can just breathe and let my mind wander.

I don't think work-life balance is ever truly achievable in the way we imagine it. There will always be sacrifices, always compromises. Some weeks, I'll get it right—I'll make it to my kid's soccer game, I'll wrap up work at a reasonable hour, I'll sit down for dinner with my family without distractions. Other weeks, I'll fail. I'll miss important moments, I'll let stress get the better of me, I'll feel like I'm barely holding it all together. And that has to be okay.

As I navigate my forties, I've started to redefine success. It's not about promotions or raises anymore—it's about finding a way to be present in my own life, to make the moments I do have with my family meaningful, to not let work consume everything. It's about recognizing that I can't do it all, that something will always have to give, and learning to be okay with that.

I don't have all the answers, and I doubt I ever will. But I'm learning to let go of the guilt, to focus on what really matters, to appreciate the good days and not dwell too much on the bad ones. Work will always be demanding, and life will always be complicated, but if I can find even a little bit of peace in the midst of it all, then maybe that's enough.