Growing up, I watched my dad meticulously plan every aspect of his future retirement. He had spreadsheets tracking his 401k, calculated compound interest on napkins during dinner, and could tell you exactly how many days until he’d finally be “free.”

He talked about retirement like it was the promised land – golf courses, travel, sleeping in. For forty years, this vision kept him going through jobs he tolerated, commutes that drained him, and bosses who didn’t appreciate him.

Then retirement came. And instead of the joy he’d anticipated, I watched him struggle. Without the structure of work, he felt lost. The golf got boring after three months. The trips felt empty without purpose. He’d spent so long planning for this moment that he’d forgotten to actually live during those forty years. Last week, he told me something that hit hard: “I wish I’d enjoyed the journey more.”

That conversation changed everything for me. At thirty-something, I’ve already built and sold one company, failed at another, and learned more about what actually matters than any business school could have taught me. And I’ve decided I’m not waiting forty years to start living.

Here’s what I’m doing differently.

1. I invest in experiences now, not just my retirement account

Don’t get me wrong – I still save for retirement. But I’ve stopped treating every dollar spent today like it’s stealing from my future self.

Last month, I took a week off to hike in Colorado. Could that $2,000 have gone into my index fund? Sure. But watching the sunrise from a mountain peak, feeling completely disconnected from emails and meetings, reminded me why I work in the first place.

I’ve mentioned this before, but when my first startup sold, I didn’t put every penny into investments. I took a month to travel through Southeast Asia. That trip taught me more about resilience and adaptability than any amount of compound interest could buy.

The math nerds will tell you that $1,000 invested at 25 could be worth $21,000 at 65. But they can’t calculate what missing your thirties, forties, and fifties is worth. Your knees work better for hiking now. Your kids actually want to hang out with you now. Your parents are still healthy enough to join you now.

I budget for at least two meaningful experiences each year. Not Instagram-worthy luxury trips, but experiences that actually feed my soul. Sometimes it’s a weekend learning to surf. Sometimes it’s a cooking class with my partner.

The point is I’m not postponing joy until some arbitrary date in the future.

2. I design my work around my life, not the other way around

My dad’s generation had this backwards. They built their entire lives around work schedules, living in cities they didn’t love, missing family events for meetings that nobody remembers now.

When I started my second company, I made different choices. I work remotely three days a week. I don’t take calls after 6 PM unless something’s actually on fire (and let’s be honest, it never is). I’ve turned down lucrative opportunities because they would have required me to become someone I didn’t want to be.

This wasn’t always easy. When that second startup failed, I had to borrow money from my parents just to make rent. The temptation to take any job, any paycheck, was overwhelming. But even then, I knew that trading my autonomy for security was a false choice.

Job security is an illusion anyway – I learned that when my dad’s company downsized when I was sixteen, watching him scramble after twenty years of loyalty.

Now I write, consult, and take on projects that excite me. Some months are better than others financially, but every month is mine. I work out at 10 AM when the gym is empty. I read during what used to be my commute time. I actually cook dinner instead of grabbing whatever’s fastest.

The crazy thing is, I’m more productive now than when I was grinding 70-hour weeks. Turns out your brain works better when you’re not constantly exhausted.

3. I measure success by fulfillment, not just numbers

Here’s what nobody tells you about hitting financial milestones: the high lasts about a week. When I sold my first company, I thought I’d feel different. Validated. Successful. Instead, I felt… empty. The number in my bank account had changed, but I hadn’t.

That failure taught me to separate my identity from my work. It was the hardest growth experience of my life, but also the most valuable. Now I measure success differently.

Did I learn something new this month? Did I help someone solve a real problem? Did I have meaningful conversations with people I care about? Did I laugh until my stomach hurt at least once?

I’ve watched too many peers burn out chasing metrics that don’t matter. They hit their number, buy their Tesla, get their corner office, and then wonder why they still feel hollow. We’ve been sold this idea that accumulation equals accomplishment, but that’s just marketing.

Real success looks boring on Instagram. It’s having dinner with friends on a Tuesday. It’s reading a great book in the middle of the afternoon. It’s knowing you could take three months off tomorrow without your world collapsing.

4. I build multiple income streams for freedom, not wealth

This one might sound like typical financial advice, but hear me out. I’m not building multiple income streams to maximize earnings. I’m doing it to maximize options.

After selling my first business, paying back my parents was one of my proudest moments. Not because of the money, but because it meant I’d never have to make a decision from desperation again.

Now I write, I consult, I have some rental income, and a few small investments. None of them alone would make me rich, but together they give me something more valuable: the ability to walk away from anything that doesn’t align with my values.

My dad had one income stream for forty years. When his company started making changes he disagreed with, he had to smile and adapt. When his boss was unreasonable, he had to take it. That’s not resilience – that’s captivity.

Finally, I actually rest

This might be the biggest difference. My dad never really rested during those forty years. Vacations were for checking emails. Weekends were for catching up. He was always either working or feeling guilty about not working.

I take real breaks. Not the kind where you bring your laptop to the beach, but actual disconnection. I’ve learned that creativity needs white space. Problems solve themselves when you stop strangling them with attention. Your best ideas come in the shower because that’s the only place you’re not trying to have ideas.

Rest isn’t the reward for work completed. It’s a requirement for work worth doing.

The bottom line

Look, I’m not naive. I know that not everyone has the privilege to make these choices. I know that sometimes you have to take the job you don’t want or skip the vacation to pay rent. I’ve been there.

But I also know that we often prison ourselves with imaginary constraints. We delay happiness because we think we’re supposed to. We follow paths carved by previous generations without asking if they lead where we want to go.

My father gave me many gifts, but perhaps the greatest was showing me what happens when you postpone living for too long. He worked forty years for a retirement that disappointed him, not because retirement is bad, but because he’d forgotten how to enjoy life along the way.

I’m choosing differently. Not recklessly, not without planning, but with the understanding that life happens now, not later. The compound interest on joy starts today.

What are you waiting for?