When Life Changes: Why a Philosophical Foundation Matters More Than Ever

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life—and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung

The day the story ends. James had spent 15 years as an elite footballer. From the outside, he had everything—fame, structure, and a clear sense of purpose. But the day he retired, the crowd disappeared, the routine ended, and so did the story he had lived by since childhood: “I am an athlete.” Suddenly, mornings felt aimless. Nights stretched long. The phone didn’t ring.

“I felt like a ghost of myself,” James said.
“I didn’t know who I was without the game.”

James’s story isn’t unusual.

Former athletes, professionals leaving high-status jobs, parents whose children have left home—many describe feeling lost when the chapter they thought would last forever ends.

Because when life changes abruptly, we don’t just lose routines. We lose the roles that shaped our sense of self.

Why Transitions Can Feel Like Freefall

Psychologists Dan McAdams and Kate McLean describe narrative identity as “an internalised and evolving life story that people construct to make sense of their lives” (McAdams & McLean, 2013).

These life stories are how we explain ourselves to ourselves—and to the world. But many of our stories are built unconsciously, shaped by childhood experiences, cultural norms, and what others praised us for.

When life changes suddenly, these invisible scripts can collapse.

Former elite athletes with narrow, sport‑only identities face significantly higher rates of depression, anxiety, and even suicide after retirement (Park et al., 2013; Knights et al., 2019).

And it’s not just athletes. Professionals who define themselves solely by work often struggle deeply after leaving their careers. Parents who poured their lives into raising children can feel invisible once their children become independent.

Why a Philosophical Foundation Changes Everything

Philosophical health—the ability to reflect on meaning, values, and purpose—anchors us beyond any single role.

Instead of asking “What now?” from a place of despair, people with philosophical grounding can ask:

• Who am I, beyond what I do?

• What matters most to me in this next chapter?

• What kind of person do I want to become now?

Robert Kegan (1994) describes this as self‑authorship—creating an internal system of meaning rather than relying solely on external definitions.

Self‑authored individuals can integrate change into an evolving life story and move forward with curiosity, adaptability, and purpose.

Vignette: Sarah, 52

After 25 years as a corporate executive, Sarah took an early retirement package. What surprised her wasn’t relief, but grief.

“I thought I’d feel free,” she said. “Instead, I felt irrelevant. My whole life had been about my title. I didn’t know what else I had to offer.”

Through coaching and reflective practice, Sarah began to see her deeper values—creativity, mentoring, and service. She now runs a small consultancy and volunteers with young women in STEM.

“I stopped asking ‘What job do I want?’ and started asking ‘Who do I want to be now?’”

Why We Must Start Early

These reflective capacities—values, meaning-making, narrative awareness—don’t magically appear in adulthood.

Adolescence is the critical period for identity formation. Erik Erikson described it as the stage of identity vs role confusion (Erikson, 1968). Teens who actively explore their identity and values are more resilient, report higher life satisfaction, and experience better psychological adjustment later in life (Schwartz et al., 2013; Kroger et al., 2010).

Yet most schools focus on performance metrics, not purpose. We prepare students for exams, but not for the inevitable transitions life will bring.

If we taught philosophical literacy—helping young people ask “Who am I?” and “What matters to me?”—we’d raise adults prepared not just to succeed, but to adapt and flourish.

James’s Turning Point

Six months into retirement, James hit his lowest point.

What helped him rebuild wasn’t a new job—it was reflection.

Through journaling and conversations with a mentor, James discovered that what truly mattered to him was leadership, creativity, and community. He began mentoring young athletes and working with a charity he cared about.

“I stopped thinking of myself as ‘a retired athlete’ and started seeing myself as ‘a leader who uses sport to make a difference.’”

James didn’t just find a new role—he re‑authored his story.

Building the Foundation Before It’s Needed

The best time to build philosophical health is before major life changes.

Practical Ways to Do This

• Encourage reflection early—journaling, mentoring, values discussions.

• Normalise identity exploration—through diverse activities, service, and mentorship.

• Build values-based cultures in schools, workplaces, and sports clubs.

• Teach psychological flexibility and coping—so people can adapt when life inevitably shifts.

Vignette: A Different Story for Emma

Emma, 18, grew up in a school where students were encouraged to reflect on their values, write personal narratives, and explore purpose beyond academics.

When she sustained an injury that ended her chance at elite-level sport, she grieved—but she didn’t crumble.

“I always knew I was more than sport,” she said. “I love writing, mentoring younger girls, and caring for animals. Losing sport was hard, but it wasn’t the end of me.”

Emma had already been practising philosophical health—long before she needed it.

Flourishing Beyond Roles

Life will change. Careers end. Relationships shift. Bodies age.

But people with a philosophical foundation can carry their identity beyond these changes.

• Athletes become mentors and leaders.

• Retirees rediscover creativity, service, and joy.

• Parents build new chapters full of contribution and connection.

Philosophical health isn’t abstract—it’s the difference between feeling lost when life changes and knowing how to write the next chapter.

Final Word

We don’t just need successful students, athletes, or professionals.

We need self-authored people—those who know their values, reflect deeply, and can adapt to life’s changes without losing themselves.

That foundation doesn’t start the day you retire.

It starts in childhood—when we give young people the space to ask the questions that matter most:

• Who am I?

• What do I care about?

• What kind of person do I want to become?

Because flourishing isn’t about holding on to one role forever.

It’s about having the courage—and the inner tools—to write the next story, again and again.