The Price of Admission
August 2026
This month's post is an experiment, more raw and philosophical than my usual: an open-notebook look at burnout, mortality, and what it costs me to stay in the arena. If you've had a heavy season lately and are navigating purpose, this one's for you.
Tactical posts return next month.
July was a challenging month for me and a number of people I know. There were days when problems with price tags ambushed me hourly. There were occasional swells of commitment resulting in a grind that often left me too drained to do anything but stare at a screen. On the personal side, I know several people whose marriages ended, and earlier this year, a few folks my age who died. There were diagnoses and chronic conditions worthy of grief and also hope.
It caused me to reflect on the meaning and mortality of my life. To question why I do what I do. What’s working that I would choose again today even without the inertia of existing habits and commitments, and what am I doing that needs to change? Why do I continue to take risks on dreams that cycle between crystal clarity and wilderness survival, when the bird in my hand could be enough for a comfortable life?
Theodore Roosevelt famously spoke of credit belonging to who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again. Who at best knows the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst fails while daring greatly. There are things that I would not be satisfied watching from the sidelines. Even though I sometimes take on more than I can handle, the overwhelm and pain are worth it. I only want to die when I’m dead—not live a walking death caused by pursuits below my ambition, capacity and calling. Part of being in the arena is knowing I am going to get hurt, sometimes devastatingly so. That's the price of admission, and it's worth it to be alive.
Along the way there are moments of incremental progress. I find progress toward a worthy goal deeply satisfying, even when it is small. I’m trying to recognize those wins as they happen and know that every millimeter of the 384,400 kilometers between the surface of the Earth and the Moon can’t be skipped if that’s the journey.
When I was young, I made the mistake of thinking my goals were static achievements: riding into the sunset, happily ever after. But the sun rises again the day after the achievement is made or lost. The day after the movie ends. Existing isn't static, and it's not a snapshot. A goal is how something looks in a moment. The experience of life is how it feels over time.
My self-confidence as an adult has come from attempting things I care about. I feel capable of so much more than I did before I put my guts on the line and received honest feedback from reality. Sometimes this has led to the acceptance of boundaries, but these can also offer gifts of focus and growth. Even a brick wall can be what the vine needs to grow up into the light.
I made a hard decision, one I've continued to make for a decade now, to focus my career's contribution in medicine. However, I still ache when I think of the absolute beauty of engineering, precision manufacturing, and the romantic adventure of aerospace. If I have to choose a focus, I choose medicine. But I do wonder, and hope, that there will be a future chapter in my professional expression that brings me back toward non-military flight and space.
I know my nature is one that will keep going for it, pursuing the goals and dreams with the resources I have. Putting myself in the most personally interesting and meaningful arenas I can. I also know I will be overwhelmed, hurt, and scarred along the way, and who knows, maybe broken. Some of those scars though will turn into wisdom. And I will do my best to be alive until the day I actually die. Having a mission gives me the ongoing feeling of purpose, progress, and meaning.
A few things make my arena a more survivable and fun experience of life:
Real relationships, inside and outside the pursuit. People I do my best for, even if our time together is short. I sometimes fail to make friendships a priority, and I see again and again that that's a mistake. Conscious prioritization of time and energy for dates, fun and trips with my wife is also a necessity for the maintenance and growth of the most important relationship in my life.
A life outside of work. Pursuing things I do and enjoy and grow in that are entirely separate from my work. Entrepreneurship at every stage can be consuming, and there are seasons to grind in ways that aren't balanced. But losing myself to work completely is another type of death.
A body that's working well. I find it harder to do my best or keep a positive attitude when I have back pain, low energy or brain fog. Finding a way to prioritize exercise and diet (and get back on the horse when I slip) is basic maintenance for me.
To those of you struggling in an arena you chose or were thrown into. I feel you. Sometimes it can feel impossible, and sometimes a certain framing is. I wish you the ability to hear your own instincts and the bravery to take the next step guided by your own sense of your best.
I'll leave you with the words a good friend closed our last call with:
"You have tremendous power. Even when the Hoover Dam is at 50%, there's incredible output. Where are your lines sending energy?"
-Ian Colpaert, co-founder O3X