For the last little while, it has seemed as though everything I attempt is met with a giant roadblock. Every offer and invitation is ignored or declined; every suggestion and thought gets passed over with a shrug or distraction.
It could be the season. The lazy days of summer can become a vehicle for complacency and ennui. It is tempting to join the poolside, apathetic crew. Who doesn’t like the taste of iced tea and the smell of Coppertone?
Though it seems like every time I try to slow down and try to “accept what the universe offers,” I get hung up in feeling as though I am not using my time wisely. Because frankly, I don’t have a limitless amount of “my time” left to either squander away or capitalize on.
Time has taken on a whole new framing, not because I’ve been diagnosed with something dire (though there is the real possibility that could happen at any time) or because I’ve been put into a situation where “time is of the essence” (though it would be fantastic to feel urgently needed), but rather because I’m half way done with my life.
(Side note: while one cannot predict one’s lifespan, I’m settling on ninety.)
With equal parts ahead of me and behind me, I’m stuck smack in the center reflecting on what I have “accomplished” and what I still need to do in order to be able to look back and place the judgment of “a life well lived” on the whole experience.
I blame my choice to major in philosophy on this crisis I find myself in: existential and thought consuming as it is. Had I known at twenty that I’d be plagued with this sort of thought-baggage, I would have opted to study organic chemistry or statistics. I would have selected something so complex and detail rich that there would have been no room for pondering and assessing and struggling with those metaphorical roadblocks.
But I suppose, at this point, there’s no way to go back for a re-do.
So here I stand looking at an enormous boulder, squarely blocking my way. Not being strong enough to move it in one tremendous feat of strength, I’m condemned to chip away at it, one tiny piece at a time.
What other choice is there? Stand and wish it away? Accept it as a “gift from the universe?”
I don’t think so.
Jenna Brownson 
Welcome to “mid-life crisis”. As I look back on my 40’s, I recall a feeling a sense of lack of accomplishment and worry that if I didn’t do something “great” soon, I never would. And, as it so happens, no gold medal moment ever happened. However, I can look back knowing that I weathered some storms with dignity and that in the end, I will have left the world a bit better for having passed through. For now, making the best of each day seems an admirable goal….
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I prefer to call it an existential crisis, despite the midlife timing of it.
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I’m exactly where you are, Jenna. Besides raising my daughter, I don’t feel I’ve accomplished much of anything. Some days I feel that every decision I’ve ever made in my life was the wrong one. But I suppose there’s no sense in looking back with regret; we can only forge ahead with new goals. I’ve learned to re-evaluate what I consider “success” and “accomplishment”. They tend to be humbler than my younger ideas, but no less authentic. Ah, the forties! Decade of transformation and torture.
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Yep, transformation and torture for sure. Thanks for giving company to my (hopefully transient) misery.
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