Get Busy LivingMeaning is Medicine:
Why I Keep Building

Working isn’t just a way of earning a living. To many of us, it’s a way of being truly alive.

By Michael Shimbo

My father died five days after he stopped working.

I truly believe the purpose inside his work is what kept him going to the very end. When I flew home to say goodbye, his brother Jimmy told me that even before my dad lost his speech and coherence, he was still talking through what to do with a business relationship. That is who he was. Entrepreneur to the last breath.

My dad built his career in places most people go when work is finished. Nightlife was always his first love. Bars, clubs, late hours, dim rooms coming alive just as everyone else was heading home. He understood crowds, timing, atmosphere, the simple economics of keeping a room full and people happy.

There was no plan in him that said he would squirrel enough money away and call it a day at 65. No vision of golf every morning, cocktail every afternoon, and the slow fade into comfort. He did play golf, and did enjoy a cocktail, but it didn’t come out of some well-funded easy-living retirement plan. He still woke up with the same instinct every morning. Find the next task, get it done, feel the small satisfaction of completion.

But alongside that world came stranger corners of trade. Carpet. Furniture. One of his favorite ventures was selling used goods. Buying what others overlooked, moving inventory, finding value in things most people had already dismissed. He was never precious about the category. If it could be shaped, moved, improved, sold, reworked, or revived, it had his attention. He called that business Stuff and Things, and I believe it was one of the happiest chapters of his working life.

He wasn’t chasing technology or media, and he definitely was not building deep tech or aerospace. He was building whatever was in front of him. A room. A deal. A relationship. A second life for something someone else was ready to throw away. Even near the end, he was still talking business, still thinking about the next arrangement, still mentally at work.

Always building.

He did not live the lifestyle I think he imagined for himself. Financially it was hard. Sometimes brutally hard. But what still catches me is this: My dad could finish something trivial, almost meaningless by outside standards, and he would light up. A smile. A lift. A quiet pride that said I built something today.

I know exactly where I got my wiring.

My dad could finish something trivial, almost meaningless by outside standards, and he would light up. A smile. A lift. A quiet pride that said I built something today.

The apple did not fall far from the tree. I suspect many of you reading this feel the same. You have that internal engine. You are not built for idle. You may be tired, even burned out, but you still want to be useful. You still want motion.

And I also suspect many of you are nearing a different season. Maybe you are ready to hang up your boots. To sunset the career you spent decades building. There is nothing wrong with that. I even envy it sometimes. The ability to downshift from fifth gear to first, or even to neutral, because you planned well enough to do it without fear.

That is simply not the path I have chosen. And I do not think I am alone. Many people are ready to retire from a career, but not from momentum. They may be done with the title, the meetings, the politics, and the pressure. But they are not done building. Sometimes the second act is not more of the same. It is finally trying the thing you never had time to discover you were good at. This, let me tell you, can be terrifying. But I recommend it. It gives you the lift. The smile. That’s part of this journey.

Retirement for me will likely look a lot like what it looked like for my dad. Different pursuits, I hope. More comfort, I hope. My dad was sleeping on Uncle Jimmy’s couch for the last year before he passed, and he used to say it was the most comfortable bed he ever had. That line makes me laugh and ache at the same time.

But the core idea remains.

Work, and the purpose it brings, when it is matched with something you love and something that keeps you on your toes, might be one of the most powerful ingredients in health span. Maybe even longevity. Not because hustle is holy, but because meaning is medicine.

I have friends in early midlife who have already started winding down their own clocks. I respect it. I also know this. A life with purpose still needs a pulse. A reason to get up. A reason to care. A reason to move.

My dad had that, all the way to the end.

#GetBusyLiving

Michael Shimbo is the founder of Seconds, a pub loyalist, and a builder of ideas. Currently in London, UK and often found at 35,000 feet.