The Midlife Crisis
“I’m thinking of going back to college.” We’re sitting around the dinner table when I finally voice the idea taking shape in my mind over the last few months.
Jack twirls his spaghetti into his fork and looks up. “I
think Mom’s having a midlife crisis,” he says with a smirk.
Am I?
Maybe I am.
I’m not shopping for a fancy sports car (I’ve been
driving like an old lady since I was sixteen), and I’m certainly not trading
Paul in for a younger model (still and always the love of my life—how did I get
so lucky?), but lately there’s an undercurrent of languishing lurking beneath
my busy façade.
Here are some adjectives that describe me:
goal-oriented, organized, detailed, creative. Those attributes have served me well,
whether raising kids while working full-time, training for a marathon, or
writing a book. These days, however, I often come home, eat dinner, put my
pajamas on, and watch Netflix. It’s not good for me. Rather than feeling rested
and rejuvenated, all this languishing leaves me exhausted. I think “midlife
crisis” is a misnomer, although it’s a little catchier than “contemplative
reevaluation of my purpose.” Whether it’s empty nesting, the pandemic
rearranging our priorities, or a change in life’s circumstances, we all
experience periods that invite us to reflect on our life’s direction.
Sometimes, we have to recalibrate, like a GPS, recalculating to alter our
route. And sometimes, we get to the end of a road and have no idea where to go
next. The question drones in the back of my mind like a chorus of cicadas in
the summer twilight, “What’s next? What’s next?” What’s the purpose of a
planner without a plan?
Wow. That’s what I want, I think as I read. Not to
ride a horse across the country, but a life that’s surprising, new, and vivid. What
DO I want to do? One idea I keep circling back to is my love of writing. I love
the sound the pen makes, scratching scraps of ideas on a new page of my
notebook. I love when I start writing in one direction, and am surprised at the
turn my thoughts take, leading me somewhere unexpected. I love when the colorful
shards of images come together like a kaleidoscope into vivid view. In his
book, On Writing, Stephen King describes the anticipation of writing. “I
remember an immense feeling of possibility at the idea,” he says, “as if I had
been ushered into a vast building filled with closed doors and had been given
leave to open any I liked.”
It’s time to open a new door, I decide. After debating
my options, I apply to a Creative Writing program at the University of
Pennsylvania. I like the flexibility of
the program, the online option, and the variety of courses available.
And then I am accepted. I have a moment of panic. What was I thinking? I’m
51 years old. Although I have a passion for it, I haven’t received any formal
instruction in the craft of writing in over 30 years. I don’t need to build my
resume or climb any metaphorical career ladders. I already have a master’s
degree and a stable job. I can stay where I am, be comfortable for the next 11
years and retire. Do I really want to leave my couch and my comfort zone? Am I
ready to trade late night scrolling for, as Penn describes it, an “intensive
study of the subtleties and power of language?” Then, I remember the farmer
from Maine who rode across the country on her horse. After her 16-month
journey, Annie Wilkins lived until the age of 88—24 years longer than doctors
predicted. Annie exemplified her personal philosophy that happiness comes from
participating in the adventure of life.
Yes, sometimes life can be uncertain, challenging, and difficult. It can also be surprising, new, and vivid. So, life, (and Penn!) here I come!
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