I suppose it’s a little late to have a mid-life crisis. I didn’t have one at forty — at forty, I barely felt thirty. At fifty, I felt rebellious that anyone would think me old, because I didn’t feel old. Now, at almost 60, I’m horrified that I’m now old enough to be my students’ grandmom (if the generations had babies really early, that is)
A lot of things have changed. I no longer feel that sense of possibility that I felt, even in my fifties. I don’t feel that my life could change for the better at any moment. My life is stable, with no magnificent giddy highs. I don’t know what I think of that, because magnificent giddy highs are fun. Or, at least, they were.
My Big Audacious Goals are not so big or audacious. I miss the ability to dream big. I feel like I don’t have the sweeping vistas in my head to make big goals. My goals are more realistic, more grounded. I achieve them, but with little fanfare.
I will find something of worth at this stage in my life. Maybe my writing will become more grounded and need less editing. I may be less distracted by pretty things. Perhaps I will make deeper goals. It’s just that I’m shocked by the change and wonder where it’s taking me.
Words Like Me 