The Obstacle Is the Way: Facing the Future When the Road Changes
And so it appears I have decided to go on a journey through Stoicism. I’m in a season of change, as are we all, but some significant personal and societal changes. So perhaps, through one of the accidents of coincidence, I seem to have been led to the Stoics.
A Stoic once said, “The impediment to action advances action. What stands in the way becomes the way.” That’s Marcus Aurelius, Roman emperor, philosopher, and someone who lived with one foot always in uncertainty: plague, war, and political chaos. And still, he managed to leave behind wisdom for the rest of us standing at our own crossroads.
I’ve been thinking about that quote lately. It resembles Seneca’s idea, “A gem cannot be polished without friction, nor a man perfected without trials.” This is a poetic reminder that discomfort often produces growth, refinement, and resilience.
I’m 66. Technically old enough to retire, but not quite at my full Social Security retirement age. I’m healthy—healthier than I’ve been in years, in fact. I love the work I do. I still feel like I have more to give. But like so many in this season of life, the road ahead is foggy. I currently work for a government contractor, and things are not going well. I’ve been told to prepare to be laid off. Thus, an obstacle is forthcoming.
It’s not that I didn’t plan. I just didn’t plan quite enough. Life has a way of rerouting things, even when you’ve tried to be smart about it. And now, I’m in that in-between place, still working, still building, but uncertain how long I’ll be able to keep it up, especially given the world we find ourselves in.
The economy feels brittle, the political climate volatile, and markets lurch with every news cycle as programs like Social Security and Medicare become ideological footballs rather than promises kept. For many of us, the foundation begins to feel less like solid ground and more like shifting sand.
It’s a fearful time to be navigating a major transition. And yet, this is the road I’m on.
The Stoics teach that we don’t control what happens. We only control how we respond. The obstacle is the way. The delay, the detour, the uncertainty—none of these are signs that something has gone wrong. They are the path.
That’s a hard truth, but it’s also oddly liberating. I don’t have to fix everything. I don’t have to undo the past. What I can do is meet this moment with steadiness. I can reflect. I can take stock. I can ask more profound questions than the ones I used to ask, questions not just about retirement accounts and timetables, but about what kind of life I want to live now. What if this unplanned and uncomfortable moment is also an invitation?
That’s what I’m choosing to believe. Not blindly, not with naïve optimism, but with a kind of seasoned hope. The kind that’s weathered some things. In December 2019, exactly (to the day), nineteen years after starting work at a company, the company was sold, and the buyer kept none of our last people. If you recall, this was the lead-in to the COVID pandemic, and all the change and upheaval that came with that. It took six months to find something, and I weathered that storm. I keep reminding myself of that experience. The Stoic Epictetus says, “Difficulties are things that show a person what they are.” This captures the idea that hardship is a challenge to endure and a mirror that reveals our character and capacity.
The journey ahead won’t look like anyone else’s, and it is not the idealized version of retirement sold in glossy financial planning ads. And maybe that’s OK. Maybe this next chapter won’t be about stepping back but leaning in differently. Not with the urgency of building something new, but with the wisdom of deepening what’s already there. A different kind of ambition. A different kind of freedom.
I’ve started to think that “security” doesn’t just come from spreadsheets and savings accounts. It comes from perspective, from knowing what matters, from continuing to show up for work you care about, even if the shape of that work changes. It comes from cultivating relationships that feed your soul and trusting that your value doesn’t expire at a certain age or balance sheet threshold.
In that way, the obstacle becomes the way, the fear becomes the teacher, and the delay becomes the door.
Please don’t misunderstand me: I still worry. I worry about being seen as “too old” in a market that prizes youth. I worry about losing access to systems that were supposed to be there for the long haul. I worry about making mistakes in a season with less margin for error. But I am also trying to trust something deeper now, something that lives somewhere between Stoic grit and spiritual grace.
Maybe, as my pastor recently reminded me, the power of the Holy Spirit meets us right in the middle of that uncertainty. Not to erase the fear, but to help us live at our truest and best, even through it.
So this is where I stand: older, yep, but not done and not stuck, just at the next bend in the road. It’s not the one I expected. But I’m learning, little by little, to see it not as a detour but as a direction.
If you’re in a similar place, wondering if you’re too late, too tired, too tangled in the “should haves,” let me offer this:
You are not behind. You are not disqualified. You are standing right where your next beginning begins.
The obstacle is the way.
