I created this new space at the beginning of summer. I was eager to start writing in a new place. Really, I was excited to just start writing and recording again.
Then, summer happened and I didn’t write anything.
To be truthful, I tried. I wrote and deleted and started at the blank white screen multiple times. Then I gave up. I gave in to the crazy this summer has brought and decided I would just wait until the time was right.
Last night, as I sat contemplating the arrival of my birthday, I felt ready. I want to record this coming year. My birthday feels like a great day to start.
About a week ago my mom said to me, “In 8 years you will be turning 50.” That was a big sucker punch that I certainly didn’t expect to feel. Age is a number. It has never bothered me or concerned me. I embrace it. I feel proud of it. Life is truly a gift.
But all this week her offhand comment has whispered through my head.
50.
Wow. That feels so different than the number 40 did. 42 feels like nothing special or unique. Just a number. My kids will turn 11 this year. My husband turned 44. We started our 7th year of homeschool. He is starting his 15th year at his school. My dad turned 68. Mom turned 66. My brother turned 39.
These are just ordinary numbers. Steps along the way. They aren’t milestone years.
50.
That’s a milestone. People who are 50 are old, at least that is how I felt when I was 16 or 22. But I don’t feel old. And as I sit a mere 8 years away from 50 I certainly don’t consider 50 old anymore! I don’t necessarily even feel 42. What should 42 feel like anyway?
My children recently learned about the idea of a mid-life crisis and asked if I had ever had one. I told them I had one this last spring. Life has been chaos for about a year. My step-father-in-law was fighting a hard fight with cancer and we found out late spring his fight wouldn’t be won here on earth. We were rushing through ISO certification at work and most of that responsibility fell on me and it was very stressful. It was becoming evident we needed another stint of physical therapy for one of the boys. And then there is the world. Everything about the world feels desperate and draining. I was worn out, overwhelmed, and at a breaking point.
I asked my mom if we could move into their shed.
They don’t really have an ordinary shed. Their shed could fit about 4 or 5 tiny houses in it. We could purge everything and live on the minimum. My husband could quit the job that sucks so much of him away (but that he also loves). We could travel with the boys and enjoy the last of their childhood years.
I was dead serious. I was ready to sell and live in their shed.
I was running. Running back to the place I have always felt safe. Running home where mom and pop would make sure everything was safe for me and my family. I am, and always have been, a flight person. I have never been a fight person.
This was my mid-life crisis. No new wardrobe or haircut. No job change or fancy car.
Running.
Running back to where I could right our world and feel safe.
I’ve pushed through and mom pointed out that we have far too many LEGOs to live in her shed. We made it through our first grandparent death. I am currently waiting to receive the ISO certification. The boys and I just finished our first week of 5th grade. Nathan is back at work. Life is settling and I feel better.
But to be honest, a tiny bit of me still feels like running. I still feel a bit wide-eyed and desperate. Maybe more than a tiny bit.
Carole shared a breathing technique she read about one night in the midst of a pretty epic panic attack. It actually worked and I practice it every day. I have spent more time in prayer. And I picked up a new hobby.
I think I might feel like fleeing most of this 42nd year. After all, politics are starting to ramp up as we get ready for the 2020 election. I don’t really watch TV because I have to protect my mental health, but bits and pieces still filter in. And, I am in charge of teaching my children which includes current events.
Seriously though, I feel a deep shift within me. I cannot quite name it yet but it is forming and growing. I am trying to sit with that swirling mess. I want to let it happen and watch it develop. I am curious about what will emerge and how I will ultimately change. Perhaps that is the real heart of a mid-life crisis. There is a bit of crisis about it. Change makes us uneasy and a wide-eyed. It is normal and natural for us to change. Really it wouldn’t serve me to still be like I was when I was 19.
But crisis feels dire. So maybe this is my mid-life changing. My mid-life becoming. Because I do feel like I am becoming, like I am stepping out and forward into who I have always meant to be.
More Than Expected 