Middle-Aged

It hit me just the other day. I realized that I’m not young anymore. I had seemed to be young for so long. I probably stretched it out more than most, living in France, being single, sleeping when I was tired, eating when I was hungry, quitting jobs because I was unhappy, dating men ten years younger... I was young. I felt young.

I met my husband late in life, had kids even later. I’m a mother of two under five, and like all mothers of young children, I’m exhausted. Staying up late to watch a film usually ends up with snores on the couch. My meals are usually the leftovers of my children. No more fancy multiple-course meals, lounging around the table with stimulating conversation, several bottles of wine and time to kill. Followed by dancing until dawn, going to bed with the sunrise. Those days are gone.

I don’t even feel young anymore. And yet, I’m not old, per se. I’m not that wrinkled (yet), I still go to the gym, even put on some techno music and go a little crazy. I run and play with my children. I will be going back to work soon, and am still young enough to re-enter the work force, and have a bit of career before I retire. Technically, if I live to my eighties or nineties, I’m about halfway through my life... I’m... Oh my God. And that’s where it hit me. I’m middle-aged!

This thought struck me as I was driving, and I just held the wheel, stunned. I’m middle-aged! I’m finally here! Huh. So this is middle-aged. I’ve probably been here for awhile, but it was the realization that was new. I tried it on for a moment... middle-aged....I’m middle-aged. I was feeling too old to be young, but as middle-aged... I feel quite good! I’m not a bad middle-aged! I can still rock as middle-aged. I can be a cool middle-aged (careful here, to not fall back into the person who thinks they’re still young and tries to dress like it), think Coco Chanel, with class, and elegance, a bit of sassiness. I’ll have to do something with my wardrobe of sweatpants, though. Wow. I’m middle-aged.

I had too much fun in my extended youth to really have your typical “crisis” – running off to find yourself type of thing. And I think my “crisis” was when I realized that although being young is fun, other aspects of the human experience were passing me by. Having a family, having a partner, to name two. My eldest brother passed away in 2004 and it was then that I realized I had a big hole in my life. After the funeral, everyone had someone to go home to. I was still the daughter aching for the comfort of my parents, but my father was busy with his elderly sister and his wife, and my mother had passed away long ago. My other brother and sister had their spouses and children to go home to. I had... my two cats back in Montreal, across the continent. That was when I realized that it was time to “grow up”. To give up the Peter Pan lifestyle and mindset. It was time to get a life of my own.

And I did.

And there I was, seven years later, driving down the freeway in the middle of Montreal suburbia, realizing I had made it to middle-aged. It felt good. I mean, I could have still been the “too old to be young” girl, trying to stretch out a few more years of my youth long gone. But now I was happily settling into middle-aged. My kids will have to deal with having an “old” Mama, not the sprightly late-twenties version donned in Lululemon, but the mid-forties, “when am I going to hit menopause?” version. But that’s okay too. After all, I still have half a life ahead of me. I’m only middle-aged.