So this is what the middle feels like. 

That restless hour between day and night…too late to go out and too early to go to bed.

That fragile space between birth and average life expectancy.

Too much and not enough.

So much uncertainty and “ah, yes…I’ve been here before. This too shall pass.”

I feel too young for the existential questioning.
I feel too young to be this tired.
I feel too young to have suffered through so many lessons.
I feel too old to still be wrestling with the same issues.
I feel too old to be deconstructing.
I feel too old to have so much to learn.

No one told me that midlife would feel so angsty or so sudden.

The expectations I’m resenting are my own. I – albeit unknowingly – put them there. The universe, periodically over two decades, lovingly whispered to me, “Hold on to this part of yourself. You’ll need it one day. Stay present. Enjoy these moments. Embrace the impermanence. Put that down, it no longer serves you.” She was so right. And I really tried to listen…but I also really loved my attachments to certain constructs.
Here’s the idea – the script, really – I attached myself to as a woman and a mother:

“Prioritize the needs of your family above your own with joy and gratitude. Then, around the time your youngest graduates high school, gracefully emerge from that season of self denial knowing exactly who you are and what you want. (Not too much, of course, but just enough.)
Also, be fully prepared to figure out and meet all your own needs – financially, emotionally, artistically, sexually, intellectually, and spiritually.
Depart dripping with wisdom, full of contentment, and completely satisfied. Like a butterfly.”

When I first latched onto this martyr script in my 20’s, 42 seemed very distant and conceptual…but what the actual fuck was I thinking?

What motivation was there to stay connected to what I wanted when I had predetermined that the answer was irrelevant?

An unnamed desire can’t go unfulfilled. Unknown needs are far easier to live with than unmet ones.
What did I want then? Sleep. And to pee in peace.
What do I want now? I have no idea.

Am I hungry or nauseated?  Am I lonely or suffocated? Am I bored or overwhelmed?

I created the expectation that I would magically know how I would want to fill the new-found space and time.

I expected to be either fully excited to start a new season of life or to be fully grieving the end of the previous one.

I didn’t know about the middle. The middle is tricky – a paradox. The in-between is filled with cognitive dissonance and fluctuating desires.

I want to sleep nonstop for an entire year; I want to never sleep again so I don’t miss a single moment of the rest of my life.

I want to go for a run and chase it with yoga; I want to smoke an American Spirit and chase it with vodka (hiding of course from kids and neighbors, because “mature” women don’t do such things).

I want to leave my phone at home and go to the beach; I want to stay at home and clean my bathroom.

I want my kids to live with me forever; I want to travel the world alone, absorbing all the beauty and meeting all the people.

I celebrate my children’s independence and the beginning of their individual adventures; I mourn the end of their childhood, saddened by my rapidly decreasing relevance.

I love that raising my kids is my most significant accomplishment to date; I’m terrified that raising my kids will be my most significant accomplishment ever.

And, even now…even still. Expecting myself to have known better, to have anticipated the weight of midlife. It’s absurd. There’s nothing “wrong” with any of this – until I panic that the best years of my life are behind me.

I love the sense of entitlement being “older” brings – taking up the space I take up without apology.
I love not giving a shit about certain things.
I love the knowing – the “Oh, I’ve been here before,” awareness that keeps me from spiraling.
I love the things I’ve learned, the wisdom, and the insight.
I love the journey and the process. I love the people. I love knowing the light is there even when I don’t see it.

So here’s to a middle without definitive entry and exit points. A middle which might just last forever – filled with abundant grace and endless questioning and messy self-discovery.

And whatever else I decide I want.