An Era of Profound Uncertainty
Prologue
I don’t know where I heard it or where I got it from (I may have even made it up myself) but when it comes to how I have chosen to live my life, I always defer to the idea that “Whoever dies with the most stories wins.” And because of that belief, I have followed a meandering path through my life.
I have never had a 5-year plan (or even a 1-year plan) and mostly feel like those types of plans are a ridiculous notion. They lock you into one path and keep you from going with the flow. So I have bounced from opportunity to opportunity, learning new skills, seeing new sights, and meeting new people along the way. This makes for interesting conversation when I meet new people, allows me to cobble together a decent living, and also helps me create a collection of hopefully entertaining stories.
The only problem(s) with this lifestyle start when you start trying to bring meaning to life. Living based on a credo that involves simply collecting stories (so I can “win,” whatever that means) means that I didn’t choose much of the direction in my life. And that is hard to parse.
Let me explain: I didn’t really choose to be a dancer, or a model, or an actor. I didn’t dream of being in a band, building websites, or producing audio/video content. When I was 5, I didn’t say that I wanted to coach athletes, run a weight loss business or even (if I am honest) write a book. All of these things presented themselves to me and all I had to say was “Ok, sure. I’ll give it a try.” And off I went. Which is likely part of why I am now working hard to discover myself, in my mid-fifties.
Another mindset (aside from somehow winning at life) that has brought me to where I am now is that everything sounds like an interesting and fun opportunity. And I do mean everything.
Here’s an example: a while ago, while walking down the street in the biggest city I have ever lived in, I saw a Help Wanted sign in a cool bike shop that I liked. My immediate thought was, “I should apply!” The thing is—I wasn’t looking for work. I also don’t know anything about fixing bikes. I was already producing several podcasts and working part-time for a large financial firm downtown. The last thing I needed was another job, but it sounded like fun—so I was potentially all-in.
Now, I guess this doesn’t have to be a problem, and I don’t want to sound like I am complaining about my privileged white-male life. But it turns out that as I get older and start to examine what it means to be me, and what to do as I approach retirement, I am having trouble identifying what really excites me.
My therapist asked me the other day what I am “passionate about” - not just “momentarily excited about” or “find fun.” She wanted to know what my guiding light or my north star is (aside from letting new opportunities take me away). When I could only stammer and stare at her she asked me what my interests and hobbies are (aside from flitting from job to job). My reply was “That is why I am here to see you! I have entered what I can only describe as an era of profound uncertainty. And it is scaring the hell out of me!”
There is a line in the book High Fidelity by Nick Hornby that sums it up:
“I’ve committed to nothing...and that’s just suicide...by tiny, tiny increments.”
Ooof. That stings.
I know I am not alone in this lost middle-aged feeling. The very reason we have a name for it is because we all mourn the passing of our youth and the passing of our health. We all eventually start to truly understand how short and uncertain life is, and how painful consciousness can be. And, conversely, how relaxing unconsciousness can be (I love a deep and dreamless sleep when I can get it).
We also have to come to grips with the fact that the hair that was once on our head has now been “replaced” by the extra skin around our belly. We have to admit that we never got to a point where we felt like a grown-up, even though we have been playing the part for years. And perhaps most painfully, we have to come to understand that we are basically invisible to the attractive young barista who is making our pistachio latte. I know this happens to us all at some point around middle age.
So instead of buying a vintage Corvette (I am more of a bicycle guy), buying a leather jacket and dyeing my hair (I am more of a shorts-in-winter guy), or trading in my spouse for a younger model (my relationship is a consistently positive thing in my life), I am going to lean into my mid-life identity crisis and write down some memories and stories (the ones I can remember anyway) and see what jumps out at me.
I have to admit that when I started writing this, it was on the advice of my therapist. She wanted me to go on a journey of self-discovery. So, I was writing down my deepest thoughts - for me. It was truly all about me. That was the point. To help me find some purpose in my life (or meaning to my death). But I have learned after many years of performing and podcasting that if you are going to put something out into the world and expect people to A) show up and B) enjoy it, it can’t be all about you. Your audience has to come first.
Let me share a story that perfectly illustrates what I mean. I once heard the comedian Vir Das recount an eye-opening experience from one of his shows in his home country. There, ticket prices for his shows ranged from 5000 Rupees for front-row seats to 500 for the back row. One night, Vir noticed two younger kids in the front row and assumed their tickets were bought by their parents. He made some lazy jokes like “Who is your daddy, who can pay for you to be in the front row?”, only to learn that the two youths had saved up and bought the tickets themselves - skipping lunches at school to save money to afford them. That’s how excited they were to be there.
Vir felt embarrassed, realizing he had made the situation all about himself rather than focusing on the audience's experience. From then on, he vowed to be at his best during every show, recognizing the many different efforts and sacrifices people make to put their valuable time in his hands.
So, even if you're reading this now without having skipped any meals or making any grand sacrifice, your time and attention mean the world to me. So this is for you.
Ok, that is about all I need to prologue about but before we dive in, here’s a little warning: some of what you are about to read might be a bit bumpy. Some of these stories might be funny, some might be uncomfortable, and others might even be cringe-worthy - but my hope is that you will be entertained and maybe bring some meaning to your own life along the way.
About the Author
After a career as a professional ballet dancer, touring with a semi-famous band, a brief bout as a desk jockey, and a solid attempt at endurance sports, Brock now embraces a less obsessive approach to life as a podcast producer. Brock is also a former podcaster for Quick & Dirty Tips, Scientific American and a past co-host of the Change Academy. His writing has been featured on Time, Ask Men, and Parents. Brock lives on the traditional territories of the Snuneymuxw, Snaw-Naw-As, and Stz’uminus First Nations with his partner, his cat, and several bicycles.
About the Stories
Welcome to the messy, unfiltered realities of life without any quick fixes or five-step programs. Written by Brock Armstrong, this collection of stories is a raw and honest exploration of the highs, lows, and absurdities of existence. From grappling with existential crises to navigating the complexities of relationships and career dilemmas, Brock shares his own experiences and invites readers to join him on a journey of self-discovery and introspection.
With a blend of humour, vulnerability, and insightful storytelling, each chapter of “Era of Profound Uncertainty" delves into the messy terrain of being conscious. Whether you're seeking solace in knowing you're not alone in your mortifications or simply looking for a refreshing break from the polished veneer of traditional self-help content, this collection of stories offers a safe space for authentic connection and genuine reflection.
So please, embrace the chaos, and remember, sometimes the best lessons in life come from realizing that it's okay not to have all the answers. Sometimes you just need to share a good story.