mid-life crisis 40,
It has come to my attention that you are coming, and not for a visit, but to move in permanently. Quite presumptuous of you, I think, when no invitation has been offered. Ever. In fact, I would say the opposite has been true. Your saddle bags and grey hair are not welcome. Nor do I find your hot flashes or brain fog impressive.
I realize I shouldn’t be so distressed with your arrival, but I’m finding the prospect all-consuming lately. It’s causing irregular heart palpitations and uncontrollable chocolate binges. My closet has become hostile, making inappropriate alterations, forcing me to wear more elastic wasted pants and sweatshirts.
Let me make this perfectly clear. I will not welcome you quietly. You will not be able to sneak in unnoticed and I will expect you to abide by my rules. There will be no whining, complaining or manipulating. There will be no self-sabotage or excuses. And above all, there will be no mid-life crisis. I’d like to think of this as more of a mid-life intervention, a reminder that age does not define me. Because, let’s face it, I’ve worked really hard to get to a point in my life that I actually like who I am. It’s time to stop making excuses for my opinions about life, love and values.
Perhaps we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. I’d prefer to not be enemies for the next 40-something years. Deep down, you must know I love you. The hair color, the face creams and the healthy foods are just my way of taking better care of you. I’m not avoiding you, well, not too much. In my teens I was naive. My 20’s, unsure of myself. By my 30’s I was scared I was going to really mess up my kids. So hopefully, my 40’s will be a time of acceptance. I won’t be naive, just selective. I won’t be unsure of myself, just UN-apologetically and creatively recreating myself. And of course, I understand that I will indeed mess up my kids in some way, but nothing a little therapy can’t fix. (For me and for them.) This could be a productive and enjoyable transition.
So although, I am not really the object of my own affection, it is safe to say that I love myself (and my family) enough to not let 40 steal my joy. I love that I have priorities rather than obsessions, loves rather than lusts, fulfilled needs rather than endless wants and a healthy sense of humor rather than a fear of being embarrassed.
“We don’t understand life any better at forty than at twenty, but we know it and admit it.” – Jules Renard