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But I...

  • Writer: Bassam Tarazi
    Bassam Tarazi
  • Jun 4
  • 3 min read

Changing careers in your mid 40s is like signing up for freshman orientation with a mortgage and lower back pain. You’re wiser, sure—but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like a lost intern with an impressive past no one asked about; name-dropping your own résumé just to prove you still matter.


It’s wild.


How do I know this? How do I know this? Because a year and a half ago, at 43, I made a major career change, and had one big aha moment to share.


This late stage change is a disorienting place if you’ve never experienced it.


As an old newbie, you must ask for help (because you’re not a pro yet), project confidence (because you’re not a child), all while suppressing the urge to scream out, “MF, I used to be the sh!t at my last job!”


I call this phase: the in between. It’s like you’ve molted and you’re in between shells of protection.


How do you know when you’re past this stage? For me, it changed with how I describe what I do for work to complete strangers. 



"So What Do You Do?"


A year ago, when I started it was, “I’m a financial advisor, but I…” 


  • Used to be an engineer/consultant

  • Also have a networking event that I throw monthly

  • Also do some executive coaching

  • Also speak on personal accountability

  • Am also an author

  • Have also written 3 books

  • Have my own business on the side

  • Have an MBA


And so on and so forth.


I wanted to be respected for this new thing I was doing, but deep down I didn’t fully believe in myself yet so I yearned to be valued for all the things I’d done before, hence the slinging of  “but I-s.”


That early part of my financial advising life reminded me of something I said in the past:



When you aren’t a pro yet, being liked feels pretty damn good.


This insecurity was sharper in my mid-life career change because the older you get, the more you have to protect, and the more you want to be respected simply because you’ve seen a thing or two. 


Or, to continue the thread… I had a lot of “broad,” and my brain was pretty cool with the previous “specific.” Why did you abandon that other gig, Bassam?! We had it good! 


It’s the same reason why most mature crabs don’t molt. Why, voluntarily, be the biggest soft-shell lunch around with all these birds circling overhead?



A Path Forward


To my contemporaries about to embrace a big change, obviously, I’m all for it. I’ve made a life of zigging where others would zag, with lots of stories to tell, and a sensation that I’m doing things “my way.” 


But the cost of that is “the in between,” and the purposeful discomfort of being lured by the sirens of past accomplishments in order to feel worthy in your new skin. But as best as possible, tie your ass to your ship like Odysseus did and abandon the “but I” life. 


Sure, your job title is not who you are, but it does need to say to the world that you are a serious person who can provide real value.


It needs to stand on its own without a qualifier. 


Make the broad part of you additive—”and I”—when the conversation calls for it. I know that my previous life experiences make me more effective at my “specific” because I can use it to connect with folks, find relatable moments, and build trust quicker than if all I had was my job title.


It supports what I’m trying to do, it doesn’t apologize for it.


But I know, it’s not easy

And I know you can do it. 


Yes, even in your mid 40’s with a tight back. (Hey, that back has stories…for when the time is right, of course.)

 
 
 

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