So This is a Midlife Crisis.
The other day, I found myself in conversation with a 25-year-old coworker about creative portfolios. I patiently explained to him that “back in my day”, people didn’t have their own “websites.” If you were a model, or a photographer, or a copywriter or a stylist, you had to have a physical book with all your samples organized in a compelling fashion to share with clients. Your world revolved around that damn book, and when it was sent out and to whom, and how quickly you could get it back so it could be sent to the next potential client. (Most people had to have more than one book for this reason, which was both annoying and expensive, especially if you didn’t have an agent representing you.)
Needless to say, his mind was blown.
“So what you’re telling me is you had to MAIL an actual BOOK to a company and they’d look through it and then send it back to you and either give you the job or not?”
Yes, my friend. Yes.
That night I lay in bed thinking about how these types of conversations have become more frequent lately. The conversations about bands never heard of (“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU’VE NEVER HEARD OF A TRIBE CALLED QUEST?!”) or about pre-digital life (“Yes, I had a PAGER. Nope, no cell phone. We sent numerical messages that were code for phrases, like ‘meet me outside at 6,’ or ‘boob’ because we also had terrible senses of humor.”)
Alas, I am part of the straddler generation; i.e. the last generation to have lived during a pre-digital world. The generations after me don’t/won’t know a world without iPhones or streaming TV or e-sports or voice command enabled life. This truth weighed down on me — crushing what was left of my youthful spirit. I am officially feeling old.
Don’t believe me? Guess when ‘Beverly Hills 90210’ first aired? TWENTY EIGHT YEARS AGO. The movie ‘Big’ turns THIRTY this year. So does ‘The Land Before Time’, which is where I feel like I must have come from, that’s how old I feel right now.
And I’m not just being dramatic here. I can’t believe I’m saying it out loud, but I turn 40 in just under two months. And 40 is basically 50 and holy shit, it’s all wrinkles and regret from here on out, and what have I done with my career, and I should have spent more time with my kids, and is it too late to have another baby, and will I ever write that book I’ve always wanted to write? And what will I be remembered for when I die? I care more about proper Tupperware solutions than I do about my social life. I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole of aging grief and self-pity.
Time feels like it’s propelling me forward, forcing each day into the next and making “living in the moment”an impossible feat. So many have-tos and want-tos and obligations and responsibilities and milestones. I just want to press pause and do some of the things I said I would, like start one of those cute bullet journals. Or be more consistent with blogging. Or get my side hustle up and moving. Or reclaim my mojo.
My youngest turned four a few weeks ago, and of course that too is creating a sense of sadness and loss. She’s my baby no more — independent, driven, smart, funny — she knows how to get dressed and brush her teeth, pull the stool up to the fridge and pour herself water, she knows how to sneakily hide in the pantry eating Cheerios from the box, she knows how to write her name and the alphabet and at this rate she’ll probably graduate college and launch a disruptive crayon business in like a month. My son took one day of snowboarding lessons and would give Shaun White a run for his money. They’re propelling forwards at such velocity… and yet I’m slowing down. Funny how that works.
So, what will 40 bring? Will I find a renewed sense of purpose and passion? Will I become more comfortable and confident in my skin? Will I figure out what my legacy will be? Or will old age tug at me like an annoying toddler, reminding me I’m one step closer to an AARP membership?
Don’t answer that question. Please. But do stay tuned…
