At 40, An INTP, Taurus, and Tired: Standing at a Crossroads in Work, Family, and Life

I turned 40 recently. Funny how a number can suddenly feel heavy, like it’s pressing on your chest, reminding you that life is moving whether you’re ready or not.

I’ve been working in my family’s business since I was 16. That’s 25 years now—almost two-thirds of my life spent in the same company, the same industry, the same routine. Back then, I didn’t think much about choice. In a traditional Chinese family, it was expected: the son would step in, take the reins, carry on the legacy. So I did.

I learned the ropes. Built a reputation. Grew into a role that looked stable from the outside. But what people don’t always see is the undercurrent of tension that runs through every day—especially in a family business.

My father built the company, and naturally, he has his ways of running it. My sisters have their opinions too. Sometimes, it feels like we’re three captains fighting over the same ship, each steering a different course while pretending we’re headed in the same direction. Meanwhile, I’ve never really had control—at least not the kind that lets me steer my own destiny.

I carry risk as a guarantor for the company. But when it comes to big decisions, I’m often just one voice in a noisy room. I think that’s one of the hardest parts: holding responsibility without having true power.

Over the years, I buried myself in daily tasks—answering emails, solving problems, making sure customers were satisfied. I told myself if I worked hard enough, stayed quiet enough, maybe eventually things would improve. Maybe there would be a moment when the power struggles eased, when the conflict faded.

But the truth is, they never did.

Two years ago, I got divorced. Part of me still believes the constant stress and chaos of work, the endless mental drain, played a role in that. Since then, I’ve been surviving. Moving forward because there didn’t seem to be any other option. But lately, something has shifted.

Every morning, I wake up feeling tired—like I’m dragging myself out of bed to do something that no longer feels right. If there are no meetings, I stay home to work. It’s quieter there. In the office, people try to push tasks onto me—things they should handle themselves. It frustrates me, drains me, and makes me wonder why I keep showing up.

These days, I find myself craving solitude more than ever. Maybe it’s an INTP thing. Maybe it’s just age catching up. But the more chaotic the world feels, the more I want to retreat, to sit quietly and let my mind untangle itself without interruption.

Sometimes, I think back to the time I spent with my ex-wife’s uncle, a monk. His quiet wisdom changed me. He taught me about letting go, about how clinging too tightly to anything—legacy, power, reputation—only brings suffering. His words come back to me in moments when I question whether this path I’m on is even worth it anymore.

I’ve started to dream of doing something different. I’ve had this website for almost 10 years, but kept pushing it aside—buried under work, family drama, all the noise that fills life whether you want it or not. Lately, though, I’ve thought about building it into something real. I’ve even thought about starting a YouTube channel. Not sure of the genre yet, but the idea of creating something on my own terms, experimenting with tools like ChatGPT and Sora, feels strangely alive.

But leaving the family business terrifies me. There’s the fear of money—losing a steady income, security, the safety net I’ve gotten used to. There’s also the fear of reputation—would people in the industry see me as weak? Would I lose the respect I’ve built, even if I suspect that respect comes more from my father’s legacy than anything I’ve actually done? And in a traditional family like mine, the son is supposed to stay. To protect the business. To endure.

And yet, when I think about the next five or ten years, I don’t see growth here. I see more of the same: the same arguments, the same conflicts, the same feeling of being trapped. What I want is freedom. Space. The chance to make my own decisions, to learn and grow in ways this business no longer offers.

I want to travel—not just to escape, but to observe how other people live. To understand life beyond the bubble of my family and this company. I want to keep chanting and meditating, because those moments remind me there’s more to life than routine and conflict.

But every time I imagine making a change, my mind floods with worst-case scenarios first. Maybe that’s just how I’m wired. Or maybe that’s wisdom—learning to anticipate problems before they show up. Either way, it keeps me standing here at the crossroads, staring down both paths, waiting for something—anything—to push me one way or the other.

I don’t have the answer yet. Maybe I never will. But I do know this: life is only once. And maybe that means, sooner or later, I’ll have to take the risk of building a new path—even if it means leaving everything I’ve known behind.

If you were me—what would you do? Would you stay? Or would you leave, even at 40, to build something truly your own?