Mid Life Joy
What a surprise.
Bonjour mes amis,
(Duo is giving me the side-eye for not practicing my French yet this week.)
Ça va? How are you? I am doing very well, thank you. Mainly, probably, because I’ve been keeping my head out of the news 🫠. I mean, I look at it, but I have transitioned to perusing the world’s dramas maybe three times per week instead of three times per day. The adjustment has improved my quality of life. Every time my inner critic starts up about sticking my head in the sand, disengaging from everything at a moment when history requires all of our best and full engagement, I remind her that feeling increased stress ≠ engagement. Watching the world burn passively from behind my many screens, wringing my hands about what I see and read ≠ helping anyone.
So, I continue to read books and go to yoga and get into proximity with human beings and take long walks with my dog and without my phone and gaze at the beauty of the greening world. I pray to my creative God and say, Thank you for making such a gorgeous place for me to live! Help us to take care of it. Help all of us to take care of each other. I often tack on something like, Thank you for making me a creative being like Yourself. The creative child of a Creative Parent (and creative parents, too). Help me to honour this heritage and allay the temptation to fear destruction and keep to the task of creating beautiful, interesting, life-affirming things to adorn and possibly heal the beautiful and interesting world. Then I get about my small daily work of taking back my attention from the tech overlords, vacuuming up all the dog hair, working on a manuscript that no one might ever read, and trying to eat more veggies. (I love veggies and don’t understand why it is so hard to eat lots and lots and lots of them.) (Ice cream. That’s why.)
On the weekend my partner and I went out to eat with friends, and at some point in the evening (the two-glasses-of-wine point, I think) I heard myself say something about how much I’ve been revelling in mid-life joy lately. The couple across the table (40ish, two demanding, high-powered professional careers, house full of projects, two pre-schoolers) looked at me (46, empty-nester, under-employed creative-type and not volunteering these days either) with a peculiar, slack-jawed, blank look. Curiosity? Wondering if I’m delusional? Judgement? Hopeful longing that such a thing exists and that they might experience it themselves one day? I’m not sure. (They’re my partner’s friends and we’re still getting to know each other.) Anyway, mid-life joy wasn’t something I’d been thinking about. It just popped out of my mouth.
So, I’ve been thinking about that all week.
What is this? What is happening to me right now? Why am I so happy? Even when I’m stressed or sad? What is this strange contentment? Even when I’m annoyed that my career is still in shambles. Even when I miss all my friends that moved away, and my church that closed (that I haven’t managed to replace), and my bookstore that would turn six this year if it still existed? Even when peri-menopause scrambles my system? Even when the very world is on the verge of world-war, or economic disaster, or catching on fire altogether?
Why do I feel, on the whole, better than I have ever felt?
What is this moment, and what is this hope?
A handful of theories:
I already failed. I failed big time, and it’s behind me now. I learned a few things—mainly that failing didn’t make me regret trying—and now I feel sort of untouchable.
Possibilities abound. After failure-recovery, and the newfound enjoyment of things I never saw coming like dog-ownership, loving hot yoga, and committing with peace and pleasure to a permanent partner (I thought I’d be single for life and was happy to be) I find myself with a newly widened scope for things I might want to do in the second half of life.
The second HALF. This ties with the above point. I have already accomplished everything I wanted to do in my life (save for publishing a book—working on it!) (also surfing—also working on it!) and even some things I never thought I’d do and I am only 46. Also—I don’t really count childhood as living, really. I’ve only been living my real, autonomous, adult life for 28 years. I estimate 40-60 years remaining. So, again… possibilities abound!
The kids are doing great. Doing a good job of being my children’s mother was my number one goal for a couple of decades. My divorce from their dad was not easy on them, and covid happened at the same time, and then I was super busy and also struggling for a while, and that whole season was not easy on them. I felt super-bad about it, like I was making everything worse instead of making it better. And many young adults in their generation are experiencing deep anxiety about their futures now. Expensive housing. A lack of jobs. Climate anxiety. A widening disconnect between genders. Worries about having children of their own. But somehow, my two… they’re doing great. They’re happy. They’re healthy. They’re thriving. They’re working and making great money at AI-proof careers. They have great friendships. They live together as roomies in my old apartment (mom flew the nest!) and even inherited most of my furniture, so they’re starting off their young lives pretty nicely. They know who they are, and what they want, and what they don’t want. Amazing! Now that they’ve been living independently for over a year and a half with no issues, and they seem so happy whenever I see them… I have just let out the biggest, most relaxing exhale of my life. What a load off! I think my happiness has a lot to do with their happiness. I’m lucky. I don’t worry. And I have this feeling of satisfaction, that I did a good a job of raising them, even though I didn’t always feel like I was.
I go outside a lot, and I’m alone a lot. I’m a social person, but I’m also introverted and have not always done a good job of balancing that. Introverts need solitude to process their thoughts, recover from overstimulation, understand themselves, and more. And, being outside has been shown to improve the mental and physical health for everyone. So, having solitude and a few long walks built into my daily routine is doing wonders for my overall wellbeing.
I’ve been working hard to a) increase the amount of time I spend on my own creative work, b) strengthen the boundaries around that creative time and headspace, and c) figure out my own creative process instead of forcing myself into a pattern of what I think it should be, or what other people would theoretically say if they could see me working. Which they can’t. (Why was I even listening to those imaginary people?) Anyway, it’s all working. My creative energy is off the charts, but also fairly well channelled.
There are more. But that’s enough for today. It is time to move on to my (paid) work for the afternoon.
Joie et bisous, Danica
P.S. Freelance update: I have some bandwidth opening up this summer and am picking projects with care. Writing, editing, tutoring, and a wide range of other business-y things: figuring out systems, tackling one-off projects, or just untangling what needs untangling. I’d love to jump in and help. If something comes to mind for you or someone you know, please say hello.
P.P.S. One more thing: I’m also available this summer for occasional childcare with a creative, outdoorsy bent. Nature walks, art projects, beach time, library trips, the kind of unstructured summer day that’s hard to make happen when you’re busy at work. If that sounds like something your family could use, once a week or between camps, reply and we’ll see if we can coordinate. (School-age children, please.)