Lost Your Spark After 40? Look Back at What Used to Light You Up

There's a particular kind of tiredness that doesn't come from a hard day. It comes from a long run of days that are fine. Work is fine. Home is fine. You're fit enough, fed enough and busy enough. And somewhere along the way the spark that used to get you out of bed has gone quiet, without you ever deciding to switch it off.

It's a very common way to feel. People don't say they're unhappy. They say they feel flat, a bit grey, or "not really excited by anything any more". If that's you, this article is for you. It's about one simple way back in: looking at what you've left by the wayside, and asking whether any of it still has something to give you.

The slow fade

Nobody loses their spark in a single afternoon. It goes the way a tan fades or a garden gets overgrown: a little at a time, so slowly that you only notice when you look up one day and don't recognise it.

It usually looks like this. In your teens and twenties you had things you did simply because you loved them. You rode, built, played, climbed, tinkered, competed. Then life filled up. A career, a mortgage, children, parents who need looking after. Each of those is a good reason to put something down. None of them is a reason to never pick it up again, but that's what tends to happen. You put it down "for now", and now turns into twenty years.

What replaces it is what I call the grey life. It isn't terrible. It's comfortable and predictable, and comfortable and predictable is exactly the soil that apathy grows in. Nothing is bad enough to force a change, and nothing is exciting enough to pull you towards one. So you drift.

My own list of things I couldn't leave alone

When I was a kid I was always making and fixing things. I'd take something apart to see how it worked, then put it back together. I spent hours in the fields near our house with friends, climbing trees and trying to make the straightest arrows possible from whatever sticks we could find. Then bikes arrived. They were second-hand or hand-me-downs, usually single speed with one brake, and I rebuilt and resprayed them constantly. When I bent one, I fixed it. Nobody told me to. It was just what I did.

In my early teens someone gave me a non-running old motorcycle. Getting that thing going in the shed, with new fuel and clean plugs, set something off in me that lasted more than ten years. From sixteen onwards there was always a motorbike to rebuild and customise, then a VW Beetle, then three Land Rovers. I never once had to force myself out to the shed. It was the easiest thing in the world.

Later, as a firefighter, I found the same pull in a different shape. The calls were exciting at first, but what I loved most were the training days where we had to solve a practical puzzle: rig a way to move a casualty from A to B, build a crane out of ordinary kit, or get a team across a gap with limited equipment. I loved the problem-solving and the making of something out of nothing. The thrill of the job wore off over the years. That feeling of working something out with my hands and my head never did.

The point of telling you this isn't to bore you with my back catalogue. It's that every one of those things shares a pattern, and the pattern is more useful than any one of the activities. I like building and fixing. I like being outdoors. I like working something out with other people. When I'm doing any of that, I don't procrastinate and I don't count the minutes. Those are the things I keep coming back to, and they're the first things to go missing when life gets crowded.

Why the things you loved young are worth taking seriously

This isn't nostalgia. It's information.

The things you did before anyone expected anything of you tell you what you enjoy for its own sake. No career consideration, no money, no image to protect, just "what do I do when nobody's making me?" That's about as honest an answer as you can get.

It also explains why so many adult routines fail. We try to bolt on a gym habit, a diet or a new hobby that someone else says we should like, and it sits on top of us like a heavy coat. Compare that with something you'd already loved for ten years in your own shed. The second one needs no willpower, because the interest was there before you picked up a tool. If you want the practical side of getting past that willpower trap, I wrote about it in why willpower isn't the problem.

If you feel as though your passion switch has been turned off, or has gone into hibernation, it's usually still there. It's just waiting for a reason to flick back on.

What gets in the way

Before you start digging, it helps to know the objections you'll hear in your own head. They're nearly always one of these:

• "I don't have time." Sometimes true, often a story. You don't need an afternoon a week. You need ten minutes.
• "I'm not that person any more." Maybe not. But you probably still like parts of what that person liked. You can keep the parts that fit.
• "I'd be rubbish at it now." Probably, for a bit. Everyone is, when they restart. That's the hump that sends most people back to the sofa, and it's usually just before it gets enjoyable again.
• "It feels self-indulgent." Looking after what makes you feel alive isn't selfish. A man who's switched on is better company for everyone around him.
• "My body can't do what it used to." We'll deal with that one below. It rarely means the end of the road.

The two-minute exercise

Here's a quick way to dig out what you've forgotten. Get a piece of paper and a timer. Set it for two minutes and write non-stop on each of these questions. No stopping, no editing, no looking for the "right" answer. There isn't one.

1. What did you love doing between the ages of about 8 and 25? Include things that seem silly, small or impossible now.
2. What do you do in your spare time now, without being asked? The thing you lose an hour to without noticing.
3. What do people ask you about? What do friends, family or colleagues see you as the person to ask?
4. If time, money and skill weren't a problem, what would you try?

Then put the four lists side by side and look for a pattern. You're not looking for a business idea or a new career. You're looking for repeats: words, themes, environments. Maybe it's making things. Maybe it's being outdoors, or competing, or learning something complicated, or being part of a team. Whatever keeps turning up is a clue.

Sorting what you find: keep, adapt or let go

Once you have a list, go through it honestly and put each item in one of three piles.

Keep

Things you could pick up again largely as they were. If you used to cycle, maybe you simply need a decent bike and an hour on a Sunday.

Adapt

Things that no longer work as they were but still have a core you love. This is the one most men skip, and it's the most useful. Take the thing you loved and keep the part that gave you the buzz.

For example, you loved playing football, but your knees won't take it now. What was it you loved? The team? The competing? The fitness? Walking football, a five-a-side with mates, or coaching a kids' team could keep most of it. You loved racing motorbikes, but you have a family now. The craft of tuning an engine might still be there for you, or a trackday, or a club. Hold on to the core and change the shape.

Let go

Some things really have run their course, and that's fine. Letting go on purpose is very different from drifting away. If something doesn't pass the "do I still light up at the thought of this?" test, put it in the past with a clear conscience. It was still a useful data point on the way to finding out what you do love.

When your body or your life has changed

This is the honest bit. You may be older, with a body that complains, a job that eats your time and responsibilities that don't go away. Some of what you loved at 20 won't be possible in its old form.

But look at what I said above about adapting. The thing underneath doesn't expire. I still love working something out, being outside, and training with purpose. These days barbell work, rucking and hard intervals give me a problem to solve and a physical challenge, often outdoors, on my own terms. The shape of it changes, and the pull stays the same.

Turn it into a micro-action

Here's where this connects to everything else I write about. The rest of your life won't suddenly rearrange itself around your rediscovered passion, and it doesn't have to. You don't need a whole weekend, new kit or a big plan. You need one tiny, repeatable step, attached to something you already do.

If you want to see exactly how to pick the cue, my guide to habit triggers walks through it, and what a micro-action is gives you plenty of examples. Keep the step so small that you can do it on your worst day. The point isn't the ten minutes. It's the proof that you've started again, and that you keep your word to yourself. I come back to that idea in the keep-your-word test.

A word on when it's more than a lost spark

Feeling flat is common, and often it's just what happens when life gets crowded. But if you've lost interest in almost everything for weeks, you're sleeping badly, drinking more than you'd like to, or finding that nothing lifts your mood, it may be more than a faded spark. That's worth talking about, and there's no weakness in it. Speak to your GP, or to someone you trust. If you're in the UK and things feel really dark, you can call Samaritans free on 116 123, at any hour.

Try this week

1. Do the two-minute exercise on four sheets of paper. It takes ten minutes in total.
2. Circle the repeats. Note the three words or themes that appear most.
3. Pick one item from your "keep" or "adapt" pile.
4. Write the micro-action: "After I [existing routine], I will [ten-minute step]."
5. Do it for seven days. Tick each day off. Notice how you feel afterwards, even if it's small.

You may find it feels slightly foolish at first. That's normal. Stay with it long enough to find out whether the old spark still catches.

The short version

• Most men lose their spark gradually, as responsibilities push out the things they used to love.
• What you loved before anyone expected anything of you is information about what you enjoy for its own sake.
• Look for patterns across your past, your present and your dreams, rather than a single activity.
• Keep what still fits, adapt what has changed shape, and let go of what has run its course on purpose.
• Restart with a tiny step attached to a trigger, not a big plan.
• If the flatness goes deeper than a lost spark, talk to your GP.

Some of these ideas first appeared in a book I wrote in 2015, Lean In: A Guide to Living Well, about finding what lights you up and building a life around it. I'm still learning the same lessons.

General fitness and lifestyle information only, not medical advice. If you have a health condition or you've been inactive for a long time, check with your GP before starting any new exercise.