I’ve Lived Several Different Lives in One Lifetime

Sometimes I look back at my life and it doesn't feel like one life.

It feels like I've lived several of them.

And strangely enough, at 63, I don't feel like I'm finished becoming someone else.

When I was young, I was an electronics kid. I went through electronics training in high school and eventually joined the Marine Corps, where I worked on cryptographic equipment.

That could have become my life.

It didn't.

Later I worked on HAWK missile computer and radar systems.

That could have become my life too.

It didn't.

Then things changed again.

I went to language school and learned Arabic. I moved into counterintelligence. Suddenly my world wasn't circuit boards, test equipment and electronics anymore. It was people, cultures, information, behavior and trying to understand what was really happening beneath the surface.

I spent time in the Philippines.

Years later, another chapter took me overseas again, this time as a civilian contractor. Iraq. Afghanistan. Kyrgyzstan.

Those experiences changed me in ways that are difficult to explain to someone who hasn't lived them.

There were incredible experiences. There were terrible ones. There were people I met whom I'll never forget, and some who never made it home.

Eventually, I did.

And then life changed again.

Starting Over Doesn't Always Look Like Starting Over

One of the strange things about reinvention is that you don't necessarily recognize it while it's happening.

There isn't usually some dramatic moment where you announce:

"Okay, that version of my life is finished. Time to become somebody else."

Life just starts pulling you in another direction.

I moved into insurance and financial services.

Then Medicare.

Then the Census Bureau.

Along the way, I became increasingly interested in investing, financial independence, health, technology and eventually digital assets and AI.

Now, at 63, I'm building AllenBauer.com, writing articles, studying investments, experimenting with new technology and thinking about businesses and projects that didn't exist when I was 40.

That's a long way from repairing cryptographic equipment in the Marine Corps.

But here's the interesting part.

None of those previous versions of me disappeared.

They're all still here.

You Carry the Old Versions With You

The electronics technician taught me to troubleshoot.

The Marine Corps taught me discipline and adaptability.

Intelligence work taught me to pay attention, listen to people and question what appears obvious.

Living overseas taught me that the world looks very different depending on where you're standing.

Insurance and financial services taught me how much people's decisions about money can affect the rest of their lives.

Investing taught me patience.

And getting older has taught me something I probably couldn't have understood when I was 25.

Very little in life is permanent.

Including who you think you are.

We Put Ourselves in Boxes

People ask each other one of the strangest questions:

"What do you do?"

Then we answer with a job title.

I'm an electrician.

I'm a teacher.

I'm an insurance agent.

I'm an accountant.

I'm retired.

As though that explains who somebody is.

Maybe that's part of why people become afraid of changing direction.

Once you've spent 10 or 20 years becoming something, walking away from it can feel like throwing those years away.

I don't see it that way anymore.

Nothing was wasted.

Every chapter gave me something I carried into the next one.

You aren't starting over from zero.

You're starting again with experience.

There's a huge difference.

Reinvention Doesn't Have an Expiration Date

I think a lot of people eventually decide who they are and stop questioning it.

Maybe it happens at 40.

Maybe 50.

Maybe retirement.

They start saying things like:

"I'm too old to learn that."

"Technology isn't my thing."

"It's too late to start over."

"I've never been good with money."

"That's just who I am."

I'm becoming increasingly suspicious of the phrase "that's just who I am."

Maybe that's who you are today.

That doesn't mean it's who you have to be five years from now.

I've already been an electronics technician, Marine, intelligence specialist, overseas contractor, insurance agent, Medicare agent and Census employee.

Today I'm learning AI, building a website, writing, investing and exploring what comes next.

Ten years from now?

I have no idea.

I actually like that answer.

You Don't Need Permission

Maybe that's the biggest lesson from all these different chapters.

You don't need permission to become interested in something new.

You don't need permission to change careers.

You don't need permission to start a business.

You don't need permission to learn something at 63 that most people associate with someone who's 23.

And you don't have to keep being someone simply because you've invested years becoming that person.

That doesn't mean constantly running away from your life.

It means allowing yourself to grow beyond it.

Sometimes a chapter ends because you chose to end it.

Sometimes circumstances end it for you.

Sometimes you simply wake up one day and realize you're ready for something different.

That's life.

I'm Curious About Who I'll Be Next

When I look back, I'm grateful for most of the chapters.

Even some of the difficult ones.

But I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking backward.

There's still too much happening.

Artificial intelligence is changing how we work and create.

The financial system is changing.

Technology is changing.

I'm still learning about investing.

I'm still interested in business.

I'm still writing.

I'm still building this website.

I'm still meeting people who make me think differently.

At 63, I don't feel like I'm standing at the end of my story looking backward.

I feel like I'm somewhere in the middle of another transition.

I just don't know where this one leads yet.

And maybe that's the point.

You don't have to know exactly who you're going to become next.

You just have to remain willing to become someone new.

I've already lived several different lives in this lifetime.

I'm curious to meet the person I'll be in the next one.

— Allen