Most fathers I know have no idea how to stay in a good moment.

We spend years worrying about our kids; where they’ll end up, who they’ll become, whether we did enough for them, whether we did too much, whether they’re truly prepared for the real world. Then something good finally happens, something we should actually stop and celebrate, and within minutes we’re already moving onto the next concern waiting around the corner.

I caught myself doing exactly that this past weekend in Boulder during my son’s graduation from CU’s Leeds Business School.

All the clichés are true. It really does feel like yesterday that we were moving him into the dorms, carrying boxes up elevators, trying to pretend we weren’t emotional about leaving him there for the first time. Now suddenly he’s graduating with a finance degree, starting a job at Schwab in two weeks, and we’re spending an extra day shopping for work clothes instead of helping him decorate a college apartment.

And yet even during graduation weekend, while we were sitting at dinners and walking through campus and taking photos, I could feel my brain constantly racing ahead. Where’s he going to live now that his roommate situation fell apart? Is he really ready for this job? How much support do you give a kid after college before support quietly turns into enabling? How do you help without interfering? How do you let go without feeling like you’re abandoning them?

I don’t think that tension ever fully goes away for fathers. It just changes form.

First it’s preschool and whether they’re fitting in socially. Then it’s high school and grades and sports and ACT scores and college applications. Then it becomes friendships, internships, jobs, relationships, money, direction, confidence, discipline. Every stage tricks you into believing the next one will finally feel less stressful, but if you’re a parent who genuinely cares, the concern never disappears. You simply learn how to carry it differently.

What I’m starting to understand, though, is that a lot of midlife is learning how not to let your concern rob you of your ability to stay present.

That’s especially hard for men who are wired like me. High-performing guys. Self-reliant guys. Men who are used to solving problems, opening doors, controlling outcomes and trying to protect the people they love from struggle. Our instinct is to jump in immediately, to smooth things out before discomfort has a chance to appear.

The problem is that young men still need discomfort. They need ownership. They need consequences. They need the confidence that only comes from figuring things out themselves.

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Of course I helped my son make introductions and connect with people. Of course I did. Any father with resources, relationships, experience or connections would do the same thing. But there’s also a line there that I think a lot of men miss, myself included at times.

You can open the door for your son. You just can’t walk through it for him.

At some point he has to send the email himself, make the call himself, show up prepared himself, handle rejection himself, solve problems himself and build confidence through his own experiences instead of borrowing yours. Nobody owes him anything because of me and that’s a good thing. That’s where self-respect comes from. That’s where capability gets built.

I think fathers struggle with this because helping feels loving. Stepping back feels uncomfortable. But if you overmanage every obstacle for your kids, eventually they stop trusting themselves to handle life without you hovering nearby.

Your job is not to create dependency. Your job is to create capability.

When my son was 18, I wrote him a list of one hundred things that would make him a better man. What’s funny is that after all these years, after graduation and job offers and interviews and adult responsibilities, none of the advice has really changed. Work hard. Be accountable. Stay in shape. Learn how to deal with people. Keep your word. Don’t make excuses. Show up on time. Treat people well. Build relationships. Earn trust.

There are no shortcuts around any of it. There never were.

What also hit me during the weekend was how much pressure kids absorb from their parents, especially from fathers. The standards I put on myself, the relentlessness, the pressure to achieve, the inability to fully relax, all of that trickles down whether I intend it to or not. Kids watch how we move through the world far more than they listen to what we say.

That awareness matters.

I don’t need my son to become me. In fact, I probably shouldn’t want that. I want him to become the best version of himself, whatever that ultimately looks like for him. I think that’s one of the hardest things for successful men to accept. You build a life through a specific set of habits and standards, and naturally you begin believing your way is the way. But different doesn’t mean wrong. His life may look completely different than mine and still be incredibly meaningful and successful.

Part of fatherhood is learning when to guide and when to let go. Part of midlife is learning those are often the exact same moment.

There was another layer to the weekend too. My father wasn’t there. He passed away in 1992. My mother couldn’t travel because she broke her hip the week before. My brothers and I haven’t really spoken in years. Those absences sat quietly in the background all weekend long.

Years ago I probably would’ve ignored those feelings, buried them somewhere deep and acted like they didn’t exist. I don’t do that anymore. I’ve learned that grief doesn’t disappear just because life is giving you something beautiful at the same time. Pride and sadness can exist in the exact same moment. So can gratitude and anxiety. So can joy and fear.

That’s adulthood. That’s family. That’s midlife.

And maybe that’s the entire lesson here. The goal isn’t to eliminate the complexity. The goal is to stop letting it prevent you from appreciating what’s right in front of you while it’s happening.

Because despite all the pressure, all the worrying, all the second-guessing and overthinking (so much overthinking if you’re a guy like me) that comes with raising kids, there are moments where you need to stop racing ahead long enough to acknowledge what you’ve actually done right.

You raised a good young man. He’s working. He’s trying. He’s figuring it out. He’s moving forward.

That deserves more than a passing thought before you immediately start stressing about the next thing.

In Health, 

Greg Scheinman

Founder, Midlife Male

Husband. Father. Entrepreneur. Coach.

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