I Used to Be White Knuckle, Now I’m Getting White Hair: Where Did The Thrill Go?

An investigation into fading excitement, midlife malaise, and why your brain might be bored, not broken

The Parachute I Didn’t Want to Open

There was a time, not so long ago in the grand scheme of things, when the thought of jumping out of a perfectly good aeroplane genuinely excited me. My dad, ex-army, used to tell tales about his parachute jumps, painting vivid pictures of wind whipped adrenaline and the glorious, terrifying freedom of freefall. He made it sound like the peak of human experience, baptism by gravity. Naturally, my younger self, eager to emulate Dad added "leap from plane" to my mental bucket list along with swim with sharks and visit a volcano etc. It felt like a non-negotiable wannabe adrenaline junkie rite of passage for anyone wanting to prove they were truly alive.

Fast forward a couple of decades and now I’m a dad myself. A dad who, despite those youthful ambitions, never actually made that leap of faith. Then a few years ago, just before lockdown, for Christmas, the universe called my bluff. My family gifted me a parachute jump experience. When opportunity knocks, you answer, right?

Well I opened that gift and felt nothing. No fizz of anticipation, no gut flutter of fear tinged excitement. Just a vague sense of obligation. "Oh, looks like I have to do this now." I made the appropriate noises, of course "Wow, that's amazing, thanks!" but honestly, I’d have been pleased with a pair of slippers. The roaring jet engine of excitement I expected to feel was stubbornly silent.

This wasn’t a one-off, it was a clue, one of many breadcrumbs that lead into a rabbit hole I hadn’t realised I was already halfway down.

Where Did All the Sparkle Go? From Theme Parks to Tedium

When I started paying attention, I saw the pattern everywhere. Theme parks? I used to love the chaos, the G-force, the synthetic fear but after taking my own kids recently, the realities in adulthood are much different. The reality was queuing for an hour, feeling mildly nauseous on a three-minute spin cycle and then mostly just wanting a “nice sit down” and a quiet cuppa. Was it the queuing that killed the joy? No, it didn't help, but it was like the underlying thrill had simply evaporated like mist on a sunny morning.

Thinking about Christmas: As a kid, it was pure magic, the excitement, surprise and then joy as new toys and games were first opened and then played with. As a new parent, it was vicarious magic, seeing the same emotions on my kids faces and taking joy and excitement from that. Now they're a bit older Christmas feels more like Operation: Festive Logistics. A military campaign involving gift acquisition, strategic covert wrapping, coordinating family movements and wrestling other combatants at the supermarket into submission to obtain vital supplies, even though the shops are only closed for a day. The sparkle feels buried under layers of admin and expectation. Bah humbug!

And as for nights out on the town? Going “Out Out”. What was once the sticky-floored peak of my week, is now something I would rather avoid. The thought of shouting to be heard over loud music, the jostling crowds and the nightmare of finding a taxi home after midnight just makes me want to curl up with a good book and a brew instead.

It's easy to jump to conclusions. Maybe I'm just scared of falling from a great height now? I considered that. Am I subconsciously shielding myself from fear by feigning indifference? I genuinely don't think so. The idea of jumping doesn't frighten me. It just… doesn't interest me. Id just as rather jump out of a plane than I would like to learn how to knit a jumper. Neither really appeal right now.

All of this put together led to a more unsettling thought:

I don't get excited like I used to. About anything.

This realisation didn't hit me like a thunderclap, more like a slow, creeping dampness. A quiet sadness. Like finding out your favourite childhood sweet shop finally closed down, you hadn't been in years, but you liked knowing it was still there, a repository of sugary nostalgia.

So then some big questions started bubbling up. Have my interests simply changed? Is this just normal ageing, the inevitable greying of the soul that accompanies the greying of the hair? Has life, with its relentless onslaught of responsibilities, bills, and chronic sleep deprivation, simply eroded my thrill receptors down to blunt nubs? Or, more worryingly, has something in my brain actually broken?

The Science Bit: Why the Dopamine Tap Gets Stingier

Okay, let’s put the kettle on and unpack this. It turns out, this feeling isn't just you or me having a midlife moment (though, that’s part of it). There’s some actual science behind the “great excitement fade”.

1. Hedonic Adaptation: The Joy Treadmill

Psychologists call it "hedonic adaptation," or you may have heard of the "hedonic treadmill." Fancy terms for a simple, slightly depressing truth: humans are remarkably good at getting used to stuff. The promotion, the new car, the lottery win (I wish!) they give us a buzz initially, but pretty quickly, our happiness level tends to drift back to baseline. Our internal thermostat adjusts and the excitement temperature levels out.

As psychiatrist Dr Neel Burton explains it, we're wired to notice changes. Once something becomes the new normal, it loses its emotional punch. This is great for coping with setbacks, but it means the shine inevitably wears off the good stuff too. The things that once felt thrilling and new like holidays, birthdays, even rollercoasters become familiar landmarks on a well-trodden path. Your brain essentially says, "Ah yes, this again. Noted."

I feel this is very similar to something my friend (and sometimes proof reader)

Dom de Lima

posted recently in a note that went on to go viral:

And the sentiment from Dom’s note about stopping noticing the things we’re used to relates to experiences too and that can be a sad realisation:

We rarely recognise the last time Christmas gives us that spark,
or when a new film release still feels like magic.
We don’t notice the final flutter before joy arrives,
only that one day, it just doesn’t come.
The thrill fades quietly, with no goodbye, just a gentle absence.
And by the time we think to look for it,
it’s settled into memory, not anticipation.

2. The Novelty Factor Fades (and Dopamine With It)

Remember your first kiss? Your first trip abroad? Your first proper gig? Everything felt intense because it was new. Our brains adore novelty. When we encounter something new and potentially rewarding, our dopamine system lights up like a Christmas tree (back when Christmas was exciting, not now, obviously!) Dopamine isn't just about pleasure; it's the neurochemical engine of motivation and anticipation. It's the "Ooh, what's this?!" chemical.

As we age, two things happen. Firstly, there’s simply less new stuff under the sun. We’ve been around the block, seen a few magic tricks and know how they’re done. Secondly, research suggests our dopamine system itself might become a little less responsive as time ticks on. Studies, like one on aged mice published in Communications Biology, show reduced dopaminergic activity linked to less curiosity. Essentially, the dopamine tap doesn't flow quite as freely for the same old stimuli. It’s not broken, we just build up a kind of tolerance to it.

3. From Participant to Producer: The Responsibility Shift

This one hits home for me and many in the 30-50+ bracket will no doubt resonate with it too. Remember experiencing Christmas purely as a recipient of magic? Or going to a theme park simply to ride the rides? The big difference is, now you’re older, you're likely the Director of Operations for Fun Distribution PLC rather than a customer.

You're orchestrating the magic, managing the logistics, worrying about whether everyone else is having a good time. You’re not just on the rollercoaster; you’re checking the safety harness, holding the bags, queuing for the overpriced snacks and mentally calculating the exit strategy. When your role shifts from experiencer to provider, your own capacity for joy can get lost in the project management software of your brain.

4. Risk vs. Reward: The Calculation Changes

Younger me saw skydiving as pure exhilaration. Any potential downsides a mere footnote. Midlife me however, has a mortgage, responsibilities and sometimes the weight of the world on his shoulders. The internal risk assessment software runs a different algorithm. It’s not necessarily fear in the: hands shaking, knees trembling sense. It's a more pragmatic calculation: What's the actual return on investment for willingly plummeting towards the earth? A brief buzz? Cool photos? Potential backache? Compared to say, a quiet afternoon reading after a walk on the beach?

As neuroscientist Dr. Dean Burnett touches upon in his books, our prefrontal cortex, the sensible bit of the brain responsible for planning and consequence-modelling gets better developed (or maybe just more weary) with age. The impulsive, thrill-seeking urges often take a backseat to comfort, security, and simply not wanting the faff.

I’ve got a theory based on this, back in the stone age, when survival depended on chasing down wild boar, it was the younger, faster, and more agile members of the tribe who were more likely to bring home the bacon. They had the energy, the reflexes and the knees. Hunting was probably the prehistoric version of an extreme sport, all adrenaline, danger, and instinct. So it makes sense that those younger tribe members were the ones itching for the thrill, while the older lot stuck closer to the fire, tending tools or telling stories.

Fast forward a few thousand years and not much has changed younger humans are still wired to seek out excitement. Only now, instead of boar, we’re hunting dopamine and instead of spears, we’ve got rollercoasters, horror films and whatever’s trending on TikTok.

The Venn Diagram of Meh

I feel the need to point out that whilst some of what I write is pulled from science, studies and literature, my Venn diagrams are pulled straight out of my backside brain and the only fact checking I did was asking Chat GPT “Am I talking bollocks here?”

If you have ever felt like I have with regards to excitement, call it apathy or lack of spark, I see it as sat in messy middle of these three overlapping circles:

• Biology: Our changing brain chemistry (the dopamine dip), hormonal shifts, physical energy levels, the sheer biological reality of ageing.

• Psychology: Hedonic adaptation, shifting motivations, learned patterns of emotional response, executive function capacity (our ability to plan, start, and manage tasks).

• Perspective: How we interpret our experiences, the meaning we assign (or fail to assign), our expectations vs. reality, the weight of past experiences and future anxieties.

When things feel flat, it’s often because there’s a lack of compelling input across all three zones. The biological drive isn't there, the psychological engagement is low (no novelty, no challenge) and our perspective doesn't frame the activity as meaningful or worthwhile. It’s not laziness; it’s a system wide lack of ignition.

When the Operating System Runs on Interest

That covers the general picture, but what if this fading excitement feels less like a gentle dimming and more like someone yanked the plug out? What if your baseline state is less "mildly bored" and more "existentially adrift unless something really grabs you"?

Welcome, potentially, to the world of the ADHD brain.

If you have ADHD, diagnosed or suspected, your experience of motivation and excitement operates on a different frequency. Dr. William Dodson famously described ADHD not as a deficit of attention, but as a challenge of regulating attention, driven by an "interest-based nervous system."

Here’s the lowdown:

1. Dopamine Regulation is the Name of the Game (Playing with ADHD ramps it up to to Hard Mode)

Think of the neurotypical brain's motivation system like a thermostat, responding appropriately to signals of importance, reward or urgency. The ADHD brain's motivation system is more like a faulty boiler connected to a disco ball. It needs intense, immediate, highly interesting fuel to fire up. Routine, obligation or delayed gratification often leave it cold.

This means the dopamine system, already prone to becoming less responsive with age, might be extra sensitive to the novelty wearing off. Things that should be exciting might feel flat simply because they aren't novel enough, challenging enough, or personally meaningful enough to trigger the dopamine release needed for engagement.

2. Executive Function Hurdles

ADHD often comes with challenges in executive function, the brain's management system. This impacts planning, organisation, working memory and crucially, initiation. You might want to feel excited about something, you might even know you'll enjoy it once you start, but the sheer effort of getting the mental gears turning to begin can feel insurmountable. This isn't laziness; it's like trying to start a car with a flat battery. This "initiation paralysis" can easily be mistaken for apathy or lack of excitement.

Beyond the Label of Lazy

3. Emotional Regulation & Rejection Sensitivity

Many people with ADHD also experience emotions intensely and can struggle with emotional regulation. Past disappointments or perceived failures can lead to a subconscious aversion to anticipation itself. Why get excited if it might not pan out, or if the effort feels too great? Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria (RSD) while not a formal diagnosis, describes an extreme emotional sensitivity and pain triggered by the perception of rejection, criticism or failure, which can further dampen the willingness to put yourself out there for potentially exciting but uncertain, experiences.

4. The Boom and Bust Cycle

The ADHD brain often operates in cycles of intense hyperfocus (when interest is captured) followed by periods of burnout and low energy. That feeling of depleted excitement might simply be the "bust" phase after a period of intense engagement elsewhere, or the cumulative effect of years spent masking and pushing against an uncooperative nervous system.

The ADHD Venn Diagram: Welcome to the Void

For the ADHD brain, that Venn diagram centre isn't just boredom, it can feel like "The Void" or the "Couch of Doom." It's where:

• Neurochemistry is flatlining (no dopamine spark).

• Cognition is foggy (executive functions offline, can't plan or initiate).

• Meaning feels absent (nothing feels interesting or personally relevant enough to hook onto).

This looks like doom scrolling until you get RSI, writing to-do lists you'll never touch, freezing at the thought of basic tasks and the constant thought of “what's the point?” It's not being lazy, it's your operating system crashing.

Is It Apathy, Anhedonia or Just Being Knackered?

I think it's worth clarifying while I'm focusing on fading excitement, what we're experiencing can masquerade as several different conditions, or symptoms of conditions and sometimes there is also overlap with them.

• Apathy is that general "can't be arsed" fog that settles over everything.

• Anhedonia is more clinical, often a symptom of depression, or bipolar where you physically cannot feel pleasure from things that should bring joy. It's not just indifference; it's an absence.

• Burnout is emotional, physical, and mental exhaustion from prolonged stress. It decimates motivation and often wears the same mask as apathy.

• Just being exhausted from work, parenting and a chronic sleep debt? Don't underestimate how thoroughly this can flatten your enthusiasm.

If your lack of excitement feels overwhelming, persistent, or comes paired with other mood changes, speak to a healthcare professional. My only qualifications here are my personal experience, I don’t pretend to know what I’m talking about, I’m learning as I am writing.

For many of us, what we're feeling is likely that nuanced blend of ageing, familiarity, shifting roles, and perhaps some neurodivergence thrown in for good measure.

Finding the Spark Again (Or Maybe Just a Different Kind of Warmth)

So, the million-bitcoin question: Is there a way back? Can we reignite that youthful buzz?

Maybe. But perhaps the goal isn't to recapture the exact same feeling. Like trying to squeeze back into your teenage jeans, it might not be realistic or even desirable. The good news is that the excitement doesn't have to die but it might need to evolve.

If you feel like this then maybe it’s time for Operation: Re-Spark

Operation Re-Spark: 25 Ways to Reignite Your Excitement When Life Feels Flat

From White Knuckles to a Wiser Grip

So, back to that parachute jump I never took. What I actually did was swap it for a Spa Weekend with my partner and a meal. We had a couples massage and I can still remember the feeling of total contentment afterwards, it lasted all day.

Maybe the reason I don't care to launch myself out of a plane isn't because I'm old, scared, or broken. Maybe it's because the meaning has shifted. Younger me saw it as a proxy for bravery and vitality. Current me? Maybe vitality looks less like leaping into the void and more like having the energy to play with my kids after work, or the focus to write something that connects with people, or the courage to admit I'd rather have slippers and a spa weekend.

The fading of youthful, white-knuckle excitement isn't necessarily an ending. It can be an invitation. An invitation to explore different landscapes of joy. Quieter perhaps, but potentially deeper and more sustainable. It’s about trading sheer intensity for nuanced meaning, fleeting thrills for slow burning satisfaction.

We might trade the rollercoaster for a really good cup of tea savoured in silence, the all-nighter for the quiet pride of mastering a new recipe and the adrenaline rush for the deep connection of shared vulnerability.

The spark doesn't have to go out completely. Sometimes it just needs a different kind of fuel, the kind that smoulders rather than blazes. And sometimes, the most exciting journey is the inner one, figuring out who you are now, what truly matters and how to navigate this messy, complex, occasionally knackering, but still potentially wonderful middle chapter of life.

I used to be white knuckle, now I’m mostly just white hair. But there’s a different kind of grip strength to be found here, a wiser, more deliberate hold on what makes life feel worthwhile. And that in itself feels like something worth getting at least a little bit excited about.

Thanks to

Stefano Miele

, of

good to know

, who's note about his own parachute jump sent me on this mental journey. It’s just as well that he then went on to write the following post, he jumped out of the plane so I didn’t have to.

I jumped out of a plane last week so you don’t have to