Forty Plus

"I just graduated in life, and I’m ready to explore the world with what I've learned."

Jiho answered confidently when asked why he considered himself fit to be an Independent Director. He had already aced all the technical questions to the interviewer’s satisfaction.

But the interviewer probed further, intrigued. 

"What do you mean? I thought you graduated long ago in engineering!" 

Jiho smiled. "Oh yes, I earned my engineering degree decades ago. But beyond that, for the past 40 years, I’ve been trying to understand how things really work. I’ve studied, worked across many places, and explored life deeply—inside out and outside in. While I still don’t know the nitty-gritty of everything, I now have an inkling of the bigger picture. I feel life truly begins at 40." 

The interviewer leaned back, curious. 

"Hmm... But why did it take you 40 years to reach this graduation? These days, people make millions and find success in their teens." 

Jiho chuckled. "It feels like 40+ is the teenage of a new cycle—an age with the same vigor and energy of an 18-year-old, but with a sense of direction. Before that, we may have the fuel, but it often goes round and round, moving with the herd. Life happens more by accident than by design." 

The interviewer nodded but pressed further. 

"Why let it take so long, though? Can’t people be trained, mentored, or coached to find direction earlier? Isn’t this an inefficient way of learning?" 

"True," Jiho replied. "Education, professional training, and mentoring do help. But there’s a key distinction between preparation, figuring out, and individuation—or what I call life’s real passport.

"In the preparatory phase, we’re like travellers without proper documentation. We explore, but our journey is limited by external factors: the laws of society, the expectations of others, and the fear of stepping into the unknown.

"It’s only through individuation—the long and often messy process of self-discovery and self-actualization—that we earn this ‘passport.’ This is what allows us to travel freely—without worrying about external influences or authorities. It aligns us with the universal laws that truly govern, not the superficial rules but the deeper truths. Once we have this, we stop wandering aimlessly and start moving with purpose and clarity." 

The interviewer seemed intrigued. "So, you’re saying this passport isn’t something that can be handed down?" 

"Exactly," Jiho replied. "It’s not a degree or a mentor’s guidance that grants it. It’s the work we do internally—the integration of knowledge, experience, and self-awareness into something coherent. That takes time, effort, and, most importantly, the willingness to step beyond our comfort zones. Without this passport, all we do is prepare." 

The interviewer smirked. "Aren’t there crash courses for this?" 

"Yes," Jiho admitted, "but they’re incomplete. There are fast-paced avenues for growth, but life isn’t a sprint; it’s a marathon. Crash courses provide the map, but we still have to walk the path ourselves. If we work hard and take it to the extreme, we may earn the passport by 40. Many, however, spend lifetimes without it. For some, it comes at 50 or 60, depending on how much effort they invest in looking both outward and inward simultaneously." 

"So, you’re talking about battling inner hindrances, the demons within?" 

"Yes," Jiho nodded, "but that’s not all. It’s not enough to fight darkness—victories are often fleeting. The best way is to bring light and let the darkness vanish. Let me share an example." 

Kim’s Story: Bringing Light

Kim, my neighbour, was being relentlessly trolled online for her singing videos. One evening, she shut herself in her room, refusing to talk to her parents, sobbing inconsolably. 

Worried, her father bought her favourite teddy bear and knocked on her door, trying to coax her out. 

But Kim cried, "I’m not good at anything! Please leave me alone!" 

After a few minutes of unsuccessful cajoling, her parents decided to let her feel whatever she was feeling. 

At dinnertime, they tried again, but Kim didn’t budge. Her father, deeply worried, sought advice from a friend and got an idea. He hired a digital marketing team to boost the visibility of Kim’s videos. They increased the 'likes' and added kind comments to her posts. 

By the next morning, Kim’s social media account was abuzz. Her older videos were being reshared, and positive messages were pouring in. 

When her friends came over to congratulate her, Kim hesitantly checked her phone. Seeing the flood of love and support, she opened her door, ran out, and hugged her mom, crying, "I did it!" 

Her parents clapped along with her friends, celebrating her triumph. Kim rushed out for a party with her friends, now confidently going live on social media, sharing her joy with the world. 

But the light her father brought was temporary—manufactured to ease her pain. For a year, Kim enjoyed her newfound confidence, until the digital marketing subscriptions expired. Her videos slumped again, and she spiralled into old patterns. One day, she disappeared without a trace. 

Fifteen days later, she sent her parents a message: "I’m fine, living in a village ashram." 

Her mother wanted to bring her home, but her father stopped her. 

"Kim has to find the light herself," he said. "Only then can she truly individuate. She needs to shine that light inward, not battle her shadows. She has to go beyond survival, beyond fight or flight, to taste success in life. Only then will she find clarity, strength, and the freedom to live joyfully—free from circumstances or external influences. Only then does something unique, something truly creative and worthwhile, emerge to share with the world." 

The interviewer stood, walked around the table, and extended his hand to Jiho with a smile. 

"Welcome aboard." 

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