For past while, I have been suffering a minor personal drama of aging. At 55, I’m past the middle of my life (unless I live to 110) and starting to feel the lack of years in my future. When Tod toasted our 32nd anniversary in October “to the next 32,” I cried inside. Who can say how many more years we will be together, but 32 seems like a stretch.
That sort of thinking is my every day reality now: this item I am buying will probably outlive me; I might not get to see the next pass of whatever cosmic bauble is in the news; I do not have time to reach my life goals or even figure out what they are.
What am I doing here? Am I just a placeholder on this planet? An NPC with no story?
I thought about writing a book, but who wants to read a memoir of half-remembered moments without a real thread to connect them? I am not a plucky heroine striding about with a cape and high heels, just a C-list woman in a fleece jacket and Crocs. I have no epic wins. I have many, many small projects – a patchwork of nothings. My life as it’s been lived and my future – whatever that might be – are comfortable and small.
I am disappointed and frustrated. It’s been a small life when I desired to be mighty. I wanted to be famous. For what? Who knows? But I wanted to be known, to be noticed. I spent a lot of time in my youth feeling envy for those who were able to navigate the social world with the kind of charisma that commands attention and charms people. I was just sort of mousy and shy. The smart, nerdy girl reading a book in the corner at parties, that was me. Except when I was having a moment of extroversion and then I was the goofy, clumsy girl knocking things over at the party.
I am feeling anxious now. The opportunity for living big has passed me by. Not only the opportunity, but also the ability to live big. I have less energy than I used to. My heart wobbles. I am locked into my habits. I see the world a certain way and I see my place in it a certain way. Not a way I especially like, sometimes.
But I cannot complain about how things have turned out. I have done that patchwork of little nothings and they have had impact on people – I’ve pleased friends and strangers, clients and neighbors with my weird multi-talents. Always tinkering. Never skilled but usually competent. Lacking on detail, but hitting deadlines. I have a small, C-list life, but it’s comfortable and I am loved.
This is a whinge. If you are feeling the same, it will resonate. If it doesn’t resonate, then wait a while or relish that you passed through this phase.
