the mid-life crisis. we all talk about them--we generally associate them with a balding old man purchasing a hot red sports car and a volumtuous blonde bimbo in the passenger's seat. we also generally associate the milestones with certain ages--usually decade numbers--30, 40, 50. but i don't think it's that simple and i think the idea that we plant, either by media, averages, or just because we count in tens, is off base.
i flew passed 30 with flying colors. it wasn't good or bad or indifferent. the birthday came and went and nothing changed. but 33 was terrifying. maybe it was because of walking in on a conversation with my youngest son. my youngest was a kindergartener. he was on the phone planning to attend his very first sleepover (i prefer the term slumber party, but have finally had it drilled into me that boys have "sleepovers" and "slumber parties" are for girls...hahaha. like it really makes a big difference.)
but back on point, my youngest says to his friend on the phone, "oh no, my mommy's young."
my oldest interrupts, "mommy's not young."
"yes she is," my youngest blurted out adamantly.
"no, she's not." my oldest was firm. "mommy is this many..." and he flashes his hands three times and then another 3 fingers. "you are this many..." he flashes one hand.
my youngest watched, then looked down at the floor. he says in a disappointed voice to the phone receiver, "oh my mommy, is oooohhhld."
i turned around and went to my room. i sat there numb; something had saddened in me. the milestone clock had been ticking, and this had triggered the alarm. the next 3 or 4 months were a bit rough. i had never thought of myself as young or old. age had been just a number. it wasn't that important. now, all of the sudden, i was "old". i was quickly aware that i was the mom. not that i didn't get that already, but now it had sunk into the bone. the quick memories of what it was like at 5. when i was 5, no one was old, but i could never picture them young like i was. you just pictured the adults as instant adults. sprouting out in the size that you saw them at. even when i'd see pictures of my mother or father as kids, it all seemed very surreal. they were mommy and daddy. now, i was the sprout out as an adult, and now my youngest had the epiphany that i was not just some magical shoot out sprout mommy, but a 33 year old who must have been his age some long time passed. i don't know how shocking it was for him, but it was shocking for me.
thirty-three also came with that biological alarm clock ringing day in and day out. i had always wanted a little girl. little girl's clothing would just set me in a longing for another baby--a little girl. how come i had been deprived of a little girl? then the 3 little boys would start fighting, need a lot of my time and i was snapped back into reality. i had to be there for them and no way in hell would i want to have a 4th child to take care of. the mind (and common sense) would kick in and remind the alarm clock that we already had our boys and no way in heck did i want to have more responsibility than i already had. even if the biological clock would get smart and somehow sing a tune of how it would be different with a little girl...the mind would retort quickly what if the next would be a boy? boys aren't made of snakes and snails and puppy dog tails, but any idiot can tell you that 3 boys is going to be work. sometimes, quite overwhelming work. it was a no-win for the biological clock. i'd had the wherewithal to cut-off the possibility of the clock overriding common sense after my 3rd son. (in spite of my doctor telling me there was only a 2% chance that the 4th child would be a boy--2% too much, thank you.) still, the fact that the mind and the body were in conflict wasn't helping the fact that i was feeling old. a baby might have made me feel young, but i went back to feeling normal when the clock fully unwound without the added responsibility. the clock stopped, and the mind got over that fact i was no longer young--albeit unwilling to think of myself as old. it passed.
the next milestone--40--came and went. but based on previous experience, i'm not convinced that that's how it works. maybe for some of us, but i think for the majority of us, there is likely some trigger--something that winds up the alarm clock, so we feel the alarm coming as the ticking clock taps out in the back of our minds. that trigger, i believe, is as individual as each of us is. something from our late teens or early 20s that was the path we thought we were on and approximately 20 years later, are very aware that we are not on that path. i could feel my clock ticking. i was trying desperately to figure out how to avoid the alarm. i knew what was wrong, and i'd avoided it for years. however, i believe those alarms are inevitable, and at 42, i was hit right after my birthday.
it was different though. it wasn't about being old or getting old. this time it has been about accepting me. being self-reflective is just part of who i am. so it didn't seem much different than normal--except it was at a much deeper level. it wasn't so much "did i do the right (or wrong) thing?" as it became "who was i? what happened to that bright eyed young woman?" i suppose that's what the bright red sports car really is reflective of. life is a series of decisions that make us who we are. all of the sudden, i was questioning the person that had been there 20 years ago and where that person went. what was i missing? what did i leave behind? was there anything that i left behind that i wish i hadn't? for some people, it might be a little red corvette. for others, it might have been the degree they wish they had gotten. still for others, it might be questioning giving up their own aspirations for the family they raised. for me, it has been questioning how i got here, why i'm where i'm at, what i left behind in that 21 year old, and what i would and could bring back. i suspect that is how it is for all of us--the little red sports car is just a tangible of the memories that we somehow need to recapture--re-connect with who we are by re-connecting with who we were.
what i had to re-connect with is, well to be honest, too personal to share in a blog. but the idea that we have to re-connect and recognize our dreams, both past and present, and reconcile who we are and have become with who we were and who we thought we wanted to be, is likely really what the mid-life crisis is about. it's why women leave husbands of 20+ years after raising a family--they feel they've lost themselves. it's why some men run off with 20 year old strippers in a fancy little red sports car--reconnecting with who they thought they wanted to be. but it varies for all of us. my version of this moment for me, would no more help anyone else, because their moment will not be the same. the only thing we have in common is that clock and the inevitable alarm. like everything else, the crisis passes. the alarm turns off, and mid-life continues on. crisis resolved.
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