There’s a point where you stop asking whether a decision looks successful and start asking whether it holds. That shift changes everything.

After years of rebuilding, financially, emotionally, and even logistically, I no longer optimise for growth at all costs. I optimise for sustainability (and sanity). The kind that doesn’t require heroics.

Here’s what that looks like in practice.

I optimise for predictability over potential.

Big upside is seductive. It’s also volatile. These days, I choose arrangements — financial and personal — that I can carry even on my worst weeks. If a decision only works when everything goes right, it’s not resilient.

I optimise for capacity, not stretch.

There’s a difference between healthy challenge and chronic overextension. I no longer design my life around maximum output. I design it around what leaves enough energy for relationships, care responsibilities, and recovery.

Burnout isn’t ambition. It’s a systems failure.

I optimise for autonomy.

That means fewer dependencies, clearer boundaries, and decisions I can stand behind without requiring consensus. Autonomy isn’t isolation — it’s the ability to choose without pressure or debt, emotional or otherwise.

I optimise for calm.

Calm is often dismissed as boring. It isn’t. It’s the foundation for good judgment. A regulated nervous system makes better decisions than adrenaline ever will.

If something introduces constant friction, I assume the cost will show up later — usually with interest.

I optimise for enough.

Enough space. Enough income. Enough flexibility.

Enough is not a failure of imagination. It’s a refusal to confuse accumulation with security.

This phase of life isn’t about proving anything.

I now know that the quiet truth is that ageing well isn’t accidental. It’s the cumulative effect of small, disciplined choices over the years that prioritise stability over spectacle.

That may not look impressive from the outside. From the inside, it feels like freedom.

I welcome my 60s.