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I managed to not die yesterday.

That shouldn’t be a huge shock. I’m healthy-ish for 37. I eat well enough, have never had a cavity, and exercise a few times a week. Most importantly, I’m one of the best drivers on the road — just ask my wife. And I know I can’t control anything else, so I’m doing my best to increase my odds of spending a few more decades on this planet.

I want time to go by as slow as possible. And that means less “busyness,” and more free time on my calendar to just do less.

I admit it: I can’t take compliments.

For some reason, I can’t accept the fact that someone likes something enough to tell me so. Am I scared they’re lying? Are my own standards for myself too high?

It could be any number of things. But one thing I do know is I’m not doing myself any favors.

I want people to like my writing. I want them to love the work that I do.

I spend hours working on every article — writing and rewriting; adding and deleting; searching for the perfect words and flow. Believe it or not, that’s the fun part. The hard part is hitting “Publish.” With the click of one mouse button, my work is now on display for anyone to read.

“Here it is, folks. This is what I’ve been working on, in all its glory. Feel free to criticize or tear it to shreds.”

But I’m afraid to ask.

I just destroyed a 14-year career.

I had a resumé full of successful projects. I built a large network of peers who could validate me. And I put well over 30,000 hours of my life into my career — that’s 3.5 consecutive years worth of time.

Then I poured gasoline on it and lit it all on fire.

I guess that’s one way to put an end to the sunk cost fallacy.

I’m not buying a Corvette to cope with my midlife crisis.

Instead, I quit my job. Which is also one of the reasons why I’m not buying a Corvette.

Are Corvettes still the go-to choice for men going through a midlife crisis? They don’t even have a back seat. Where do you put the baby’s car seat? And does having a baby mean you’re in your “midlife?” Or does “midlife” mean my life is halfway over? At 37?!

Sorry. Let me back up.