#105 The hum

Hi everyone. Welcome back to How to Live, a podcast that explores ways to live a good life.

I'm your host, Sharad Lal, and this is episode 105.

It's been a while.

I said I'd be back in February. I wasn't. And I owe you an honest word about that.

Over the last few months, the How to Live Company has really taken off. I've been delivering leadership programmes on purpose, performance, and change. The work has been exciting, demanding, and has needed a lot of me.

And with my head that full, I knew I couldn't do this podcast justice. So the break stretched on much longer than I intended.

During that time, many of you reached out. You asked when the podcast was coming back. You told me you missed it.

That meant a lot.

And it made me realise that although life isn't about to become less busy, I do miss this. I miss speaking to you. I miss having a place for the quieter conversations.

So I'm changing the shape of the podcast.

For this season, I'll be here once a month, for around five to ten minutes.

No guests. No big production. Just me.

Every second Saturday, I write a short newsletter. Each one explores an honest thought about success, purpose, and the things that sit underneath a life that looks fine from the outside.

Once a month, I'll bring two of those notes here. I'll add a little context and share some of the responses they generated, because often the most interesting part is what comes back.

And if you'd like to receive the notes as they're written, you can sign up at newsletter.sharadlal.net.

So, let's begin at the beginning.

The first note is called "The Hum."

This was the first one I sent, back in May. It was the note that started all of this.

Here it is.

I've been thinking about something I hear a lot from people I talk to.

They've built something real - a career, a family, a reputation - and underneath all of it, there's this quiet unease.

Not a crisis. Nothing they can point to.

Just a low hum.

Is this it?

It often hits in our 40s, but not always. Sometimes earlier. Sometimes later.

It's less about age and more about a stage - the point where the life we've built starts to feel like it belongs to someone we used to be.

Most advice tries to make that feeling go away.

Pop culture says: find your purpose.

The hustle crowd says: push through.

Well-meaning friends say: be grateful.

But I've started to wonder whether the feeling is a problem at all.

What if it's simply what happens when we've outgrown an old version of ourselves, but haven't yet found the next one?

I'll be writing more about this - where the feeling comes from, why so many people experience it, and what I've seen actually helps.

For now, I just wanted to name it.

Because almost everyone I speak to thinks they're the only one feeling it.

I wasn't sure anyone would write back to that note.

But they did.

One coach wrote, "You've just described every coaching client of mine."

That told me this wasn't limited to the people I work with. It was showing up everywhere.

Many others wrote some version of: "I thought I was the only one."

And someone sent me a line I loved:

"Keep 'em coming. They feel like a morning cup of chai."

That has stayed with me. It is exactly what I want these notes, and perhaps these episodes, to feel like.

Then one reader offered a very different perspective.

He wrote:

"Frankly, I can't afford those luxuries. Every day I find happiness and balance by practising martial arts - regulating my mind, body, and spirit. The empty mind is what I seek."

I appreciated that response.

The hum isn't everyone's experience. And even when it appears, not everyone relates to it in the same way.

For some, reflection opens the door. For others, it is discipline, movement, practice, or service.

There may not be one path through it.

The second note is called "Why Now."

A couple of weeks after the first note, I found myself asking another question.

Why does this seem to be hitting so many of us at this particular stage of life?

Here is what I wrote.

For most of our lives, the path was set for us.

Society, school, our parents - they handed us a game with clear rules.

Study hard.

Get into a good college.

Land the job.

Get promoted.

We didn't always like being told what to do. But the direction was rarely in doubt.

And then, somewhere along the way, the path runs out.

Not because we failed.

But because we finished it.

And now, no one is setting the next one for us.

Here's the irony.

We spent years resenting being told what to do.

But figuring it out on our own turns out to be much harder.

A blank canvas can be scarier than a path we never chose.

We like the caterpillar-to-butterfly story.

But one reader offered a different metaphor. Perhaps we are more like snakes, shedding one layer after another.

Each one uncomfortable.

Each one necessary.

Not one grand transformation.

Just the next skin.

And the replies to this one went deep, very quickly.

One reader connected this stage of life to perimenopause and menopause - the hormonal dimension of the experience for many women in their 40s, 50s, and 60s.

She wrote:

"It's fascinating that the emotional journey is so universal, regardless of the biological trigger."

I thought that was beautifully put.

Another reader kept it simple and honest:

"There's always this constant unease between what I'm doing because my family needs it, and what I want to do."

I suspect many of us live inside that gap.

And another person wrote:

"It's only now that I've stepped away that I actually sit down and reflect on what I want. It's a scary place to be in - but exciting, too."

Scary and exciting at the same time.

That might be the whole thing, right there.

And that is the podcast for this month.

If something in today's episode stirred something in you - the hum, the blank canvas, the next skin - I'd love to hear from you.

You can reply to any of my newsletters, or find my contact details in the show notes. I read every message.

The newsletter comes out every second Saturday. One honest thought. Nothing forced into a neat conclusion.

You can sign up at newsletter.sharadlal.net.

I'll be back next month with the next two notes.

Thank you for being here.