I’ll be forty in a couple of months. The beginning of middle age. I’m a runner and a cyclist, so taking up either—as people often do to combat or manifest a middle age crisis—is not really an option for me.

My generation—millennials—was raised to expect stability and inherited permanent uncertainty instead.

Boomers grew up in an era where reasonable effort yielded maximum outcomes, and they continue to enjoy the privileges of the wealth they accumulated.

The following generation, the one preceding millennials—the gen X’ers—were also privileged enough to grow up in a hopeful era, where effort translated into results, and a dignified life was not only possible but also reasonably attainable. They now occupy most positions of political and economic leadership, convinced that their success was primarily the product of merit. Having grown up in a predictable, upward-moving world, they still grapple with the instability that followed. The shambles that is the current political landscape emerged under their watch, while they will not be the ones to suffer most of its consequences. Life is good if you are gen X.

The generation after millennials—the gen Z—grew up amid multiple crises and internalised the instability. While they certainly picked up the short end of the stick, living their prime years while an empire falls and, along with it, the main pillars of our civilisation, they nevertheless adopted the healthiest possible outlook: they are relaxed, prioritise their emotional well-being and personal time, and realise that life is short, nothing is certain, and work is not everything.

Millennials—my generation—grew up in the world shaped by systems established by the boomers, whose benefits were also enjoyed by the X’ers. Yet the expectation of stability and prosperity did not carry forward generationally. Millennials were raised with promises that never materialised, inheriting a world fundamentally different from the one they were socialised to expect.

You see it all around you. Millennials are well-educated, education having been a priority for their gen X parents. Yet they are financially disadvantaged compared to the generation preceding them—a tragedy in itself. They work long hours, chasing a dream that increasingly feels unattainable, having grown up in a culture where effort was applauded and upward mobility expected. While the disconnect between effort and outcome is evident, the mentality of “grind” remained ingrained in them.

As if the compounded trauma of the “stolen” future, the financial crisis and the pandemic were not enough, millennials are now also struggling to redefine parenthood. They want to be gentle parents, prioritising the mental health of their children (but not their own), trying to be decent spouses, and believing that if they behave differently from their parents in every possible way, maybe their children will not end up as depressed as they are.

As I am entering middle age, I pause to situate myself. Previous generations reached this stage with various certainties—established careers, home ownership, settled socially and economically, at peace with their identities. Millennials are entering middle age full of uncertainties, juggling unmanageable responsibilities and unattainable expectations—some imposed by society, others by their upbringing—before they doomscroll on the sofa at night, waiting for the next day to begin. As if days are infinite.

It is interesting to see millennials becoming marathoners, cyclists or—the most manic of them all—triathletes. If anything defines our era, it is the absence of control: no certainties, instability as a constant. Control over one’s body, however, still feels possible. Take running. There is a reasonable expectation that if you run frequently, gradually increase your mileage, and do a bit of strength training, eventually you will run further and sometimes even faster. It’s predictable. It’s controllable.

Perhaps this is why I have been drawn to endurance sports—not merely for fitness, but for structure, predictability, and the tacit assurance that proportional effort will yield expected results. I’m already a runner and a cyclist, but the last time I attempted triathlon training was a disaster. The children were even younger then, and I simply could not find enough time to both train and sleep. I was burned out, physically and emotionally. Not to mention feeling like an impostor amidst super dedicated (and rather interesting) people who structure their entire lives around variations of the same intense exercise schedule for years.

Which is not to say that I have not contributed to the stereotype myself. I ran a marathon this year, and hope to run a few more. But that does not necessarily count as a middle age crisis. I have been a runner for years; this simply felt like the natural progression of things.

I don’t know how middle age will find me. We all already seem to be navigating one crisis or another. Maybe I’m already living through mine. For me, middle age is about grief. In order to accept things, you need to grieve; to process the loss of the alternative. Acceptance is not complacency. It is simply the means through which one feels at ease with oneself. I am not particularly succeeding at this. For the moment, I do what I typically do in these instances: I hide my big nose in books, and let my mind travel to other worlds.

This is part of a series of entries titled Fatherhood Diaries where I record thoughts on life as a new dad. Click here for all the Fatherhood Diaries.