The Art of Starting Over Part 6 - A Life That Looks Different, But Fits Him Better Than the Suit Ever Did

Frank didn’t plan on becoming a weekend musician in his 50s. But life has a way of rearranging you, especially when you are burned out. It can start subtle and gentle, but if you don’t listen to the whisper, it will come down on you all at once. Life gets really loud, when you ignore it.

Like many strong Black men his age, Frank was raised to follow rules. His father would say, "no matter what game you’re playing, you have to follow the rules to win. If you don’t, you get penalized.” 

Achievement wasn’t an option, it was the family language and legacy. Links, Jack and Jill, private school, HBCUs, fraternities, all the things that say elite in Atlanta. Proper diction. The kind of upbringing that came with pressed slacks, Saturday test prep, and parents who believed respect came in titles and initials after your name.

Frank and his sister, Gina, were southern, polished, and prepared. Their grandparents were from Georgia, their parents however moved to Chicago for more opportunity, only to end up back in Georgia by the time Gina, Frank’s little sister, was born. It was an interesting time when Black people were fighting for power, money, and opportunity - and getting it. Companies like Coca-Cola were finally starting to hire Black professionals because everyone was afraid of Jesse Jackson and Operation PUSH.

Frank and Gina’s parents made sure they had every opportunity. Both chose HBCUs. That was non-negotiable in their household. Not just for education, but for belonging. For roots. With their grades and backgrounds, they could have chosen any school. Yale, Princeton, Cambridge even. But why go where you’re doubted. Why go where there is an extra struggle. At their HBCUs, they found their people, their voice, and a little more confidence because everyone around them had hope. Everyone around them had the potential to go somewhere and be somebody.

And Frank? He was a star. Graduated with honors. Recruited straight into Andersen Consulting back before it became Accenture and before corporate burnout had a name. Back when you aspired to be a company man and loyalty felt like purpose, and stress felt like oxygen.

For over twenty years, he climbed. Late flights. Hotel carpets. Client presentations. Commissions and deadlines. He walked into any room with pride. He had money, a title, a fraternity, a new house, a family name, and a new family he was starting to build. He got engaged, bought a ring he was proud of, and was marrying a beautiful woman who also carried two degrees and ambition of her own. She became a teacher. They were preparing to buy their first home. Everything was lining up.

He learned how to adjust his voice, pick his wardrobe, handle a thousand tiny cuts, and smile like the game never bruised him. He was playing to win by following the rules like his pops taught him. He was doing it and these white boys could not out-sell him even if their daddies did have more money than his. They didn’t have more heart or grit than his pops. His father worked hard, swallowed his words, and handled a million cuts. Not to mention all the cuts the forefathers and ancestors endured. So a thousand was nothing to bear for Frank.

He was good at it, until he wasn’t.

In 2005, they called it a restructuring. He called it a slap in the face. He sacrificed so much for the company. He never went to one football or basketball game. He missed his second son being born because he was on the road, and back then FaceTime wasn’t an option. He cannot even count the number of sacrifices, so why is he, at 46 looking for a job. He played by the rules like he was told. Now he’s competing with 26-year-olds that don’t have nearly the responsibilities he does. They could work for a fraction of what he was asking. How could he compete with that?

A man who had never been without a polished elevator pitch suddenly didn’t know how to introduce himself. A man who always had answers didn’t even know if he was asking the right questions.
Should I look for another job? Should I continue to consult? What are my options? Who is going to hire me at almost 50?

For four years he asked these questions and a million more. Now he is 50 and he is running out of options. He is playing with his band at his favorite restaurant for fun because he had a few dollars to live off of, but that money is running out and gigs are just here and there. Bills are constant. Two boys in college, a big house payment, and two luxury cars. Luckily one is paid off and only one year to go on the other, but he is still stressed.

He received severance and had some stock options that he exercised in order to keep going. But he held onto the belief it was temporary. He never thought that four years later he would still be waiting for the industry to call him back. He thought prestige had a long memory, but he is feeling forgotten. He waited for the market to realize he was missing, but he might not have been as important to corporate America as corporate America was to him.

He was suffering from a quiet grief. He was saying goodbye to a life he had grown attached. A life that defined him. He didn’t know what else to do so at first, he was doing some consulting. Started his own consulting company because he had the chops. But he was competing with his old company half the time. He missed his old company, not for the job, but for who he was when he had it.

I met Frank in 2012 when I inherited his account. His advisor retired and I was lucky enough to work with him on a financial plan, so when it was time for transition Frank came to me. He referred his sister, Gina, to me too. I’ll tell you more about her next week. 

Now more than 10 years later I am no longer his financial advisor, but I still give him guidance. I’m his therapist now. Recently he told me he has been losing sleep, regretting going into music and away from corporate America. He did not want to start drawing Social Security but he might have to.

"There is always something to worry about," he said. "Whether you have a job or have a business. Whether you are a musician with freedom or an executive with golden handcuffs, it is all scary. You regret what you did and what you didn’t do and both are keeping me up at night."

As we talked about it, we found that his life isn’t all that bad. He gets to play in a band and DJ with his son a few times a week, but he is not sure if he will be able to leave the legacy he once pictured. He is rethinking what it means to be Frank Brooks. In his heart, he knows he made the right decision. In his head, he overthinks it all.

He never did get another consulting job. In 2010 he gave up on running a consulting business and picked up his turntables again and brushed the dust off his trumpet. He remembered his college band days and how fun they were. It was the thing he loved before adulthood taught him to trade rhythm for security. He didn’t have to follow the rules when it came to his music. He followed the beat. 

He dusted off his keyboard, his congas, and his old crate of jazz records too. He was talented. His parents gave him many talents and skills. Some he was born with, some he earned through nights and weekend practices.

At first it was a Saturday night hobby. Then Friday. Then Thursday when the calls started coming and the pride eased its grip. Soon enough, he was playing in lounges, weddings, day parties, band sets, festivals and his favorite gig was a backyard BBQ for one of those wealthy C-Suite executives he once envied. Sometimes he still does, but he knows they envy him too. 

We all want what we don’t have. He’s not famous. Not struggling either. Some years are better than others. Last year he was losing sleep. Waking up a few times thinking about where he went wrong. Wishing his 60s looked different. But this year he’s sleeping through the night. He isn’t comparing himself to others or his old self either.

Five to eight thousand dollars a month isn’t bad. The fluctuation makes him nervous and a little stingy, but he won’t complain everyday. I guess when you follow the rules you gotta make sure you’re still playing the same game. The game could change, so why can’t you? 

No fancy title. No corner office.
Just music, family, and maybe 20 more years of possibilities. 

His parents, if they could see it, would probably shake their heads and feel mixed emotions. Maybe they would notice the light in his eyes, so they wouldn’t be too disappointed. 

People assume starting over looks like rebuilding the same shape or coming back stronger. But sometimes starting over means you stop polishing what’s broken. Sometimes it looks like being a man in Atlanta who had prestige and now has joy.

And if someone asks him what he does these days, he looks forward to telling them. He loves bragging about the time he spends playing jazz with his son and his fraternity brothers. 

If he’s really having fun, he’ll say he’s been retired for 20 years. That’s a conversation starter. But the good news is, he’s accepted his new version of success and now sleeps through the night, most nights. 

Sleep Better, Live Better

Maybe you’re like Frank. Maybe you’re lying awake some nights thinking about who you used to be and who you’re supposed to become now. Maybe other nights you crash hard because life wears you out, yet you still wake up tired. Either way, your mind is doing overtime and your body is paying for it.

You don’t have to solve everything tonight. You don’t need a big strategy or a new title or a perfect plan to earn rest. Start simple. Try my free sleep meditations. 

They’ll help you fall asleep, stay asleep, and awaken at the right time feeling refreshed. I’ve helped more than 6,000 people restore their peace, and my goal is to help 10,000.

Will you be one of them? It’s free, easy, and could be the first real step back toward rest you don’t have to earn and a life that fits who you are now.

Click here to access it.