Substituting Midlife Clarity for Midlife Crisis

One Spring evening I found myself sitting with a dear friend in the 4th pew from the front of the Decatur First United Methodist Church.  The beautiful, historic church was celebrating their bicentennial by hosting an intimate show of the Indigo Girls, one of whom had grown up in that congregation.  This concert was a celebration of history, but also a benefit to support the organization that my dear friend works for, WellRoot Family Services. We put on our 1990s energized feminist attitudes and showed up early, to get good parking and good seats, because while we packed the ideals of our youth, 46-year-old feet didn’t want to walk far in heels or sit far enough back that we’d have to squint even a little.

When I told my younger sister where I was going that night, she looked at me skeptically and said “Who? I’ve never heard of them.”  Blasphemy!  You, unlearned little sister, were clearly not a lesbian or a diehard feminist in the early 90s.  

I first learned of the Indigo Girls in 1994 from an RA in my dorm at an all-female college on the East Coast.  She, a diehard feminist lesbian, educated us on the power of our femininity in its many forms, on the dangers of the patriarchy, and on our role as a new generation capable of breaking the glass ceiling. And she introduced us to the Indigo Girls. Emily and Amy sang the female power anthems of my youth.

As my bestie and I sat there enjoying the camaraderie of 200 people singing "Power of Two", I looked around at all the young women who had been empowered and enlightened by the words of these two poet singers. But what I saw when I looked a little closer were women with streaks of silver, grey, and white at their temples. As the beautiful faces sang the words of our youth, I could make out laugh lines that matched my own.  When had all these strong, independent young women gotten old?  We had splayed across dorm rooms, sharing junk food, our dreams, our homesickness, and our unspoken uncertainty about who we were or what our lives could and would be. As Emily and Amy’s "Closer to Fine" infused the florescent lit dorm room from the boombox on the desk behind us, “It's only life after all” we toyed with the anticipation and fear of all that life had to offer strong, smart, independent young women, wondering what our crooked lines would look like.

How had it been 30 years since those girls had those deep and inquisitive conversations? Since we’d wondered and dreamed and feared together. We wanted so much.  And we feared so much more than we wanted.  Our young fears wrapped around our shoulders then like the pashminas we now wear to ward the cold off our perimenopausal bodies.

As we sang and clapped along together, “Hey la-la…I’m gonna love you till it hurts, so don’t mind if I do. Hey la-la…I’m gonna love you till it works, I’ve got no mind to lose,” the clarity of this midlife stage that we’re in hit me, not with regret but with gratitude.

In those years since college, we’ve had losses and loves and hurts and wins and jobs and marriages and divorces and babies and teens and whole big full lives.  The life that I’ve lived since those dorm days is one that I am so proud of and grateful for and still in awe of.  If I had tried to explain the magnitude of this life to the round faced self-doubting 17-year-old on the floor that THIS, today, is what she had in store I don’t think that she would have believed it. But then she wasn’t a very trusting one back then. In this wondering I realized that my midlife had brought so much more than the stereotypes of the midlife crisis.

• I don’t want a fancy sports car. I have an 8 passenger SUV that carries the detritus of parenting, an accumulation of soccer balls, swim goggles, sunscreen, snacks, water bottles, and permission slips.  It’s tagged appropriately with the car magnets naming all the schools and sports of my many children. It’s perfect for our life. And the AC and heat run great so I can work in remote comfort waiting for all the practices to end. I’ve picked slime and Cheetos out of the carpet and in only 36 more monthly payments it will be mine.

• I’m not looking for a newer, younger replacement spouse.  After 7 years of single parenthood, I upgraded to Husband 2.0 in 2022.  A much better model than the previous one, with the substance use and spousal abuse bugs removed since I’d gotten the previous 2006 model.  While this newer model is incapable of putting his clothes IN the laundry hamper, he’s smart, snuggly, loving, dedicated to our family, and would do anything for me.  And he came with 3 incredible accessories that I love with my whole heart.

  
  

• I’m not going to quit my job and reinvent myself.  I have a career that I love and has allowed me to support my family in ways that I hadn’t dreamed were open to a poor country kid like me. The goal of my job every day is to save lives and protect people.  How do you not love being part of an organization that has that goal in mind, and I have the blessing of working with amazing people who have dedicated their lives to achieving it.

• I’m not going to start dressing younger mostly because I wear whatever the hell I want to now anyway. If I want to wear a kaftan and slippers, they’re right there in my closet. Thank you for your inspiration Mrs. Roper.  If I want to wear a crop top with my jeans, I’ve got those too.  As long as my kids give me a minimum of a 6 on my fit check I’m grabbing my oversized bag (also with snacks and sunscreen littered in it) and heading out the door.

This midlife clarity doesn’t mean that I’m done wanting. It also doesn’t mean that I’m done fearing. Having the extra 30 years and 7 kids means there are so many more fears for the extra living. Like we all sang together that warm April evening:

"I got more back for the breaking

More callous for the making

A lifetime for the aching

I got no need to run this battery down

I'm just trying to get the stains out" (literally I spend hours getting stains out)

But those years have also given me so many more hopes for the next 30 years. The extra years have gifted me my own collection of young/old feminists who are here with me singing and clapping and fearing and hoping and teaching the newest generation to be strong, smart, independent young people to follow their own crooked lines.  And I hope what when we are done with the next 30 years it’s with this “And if we ever leave a legacy, it's that we loved each other well.”