Throwback Edition: In Defense of the Mid-Life Crisis
Plus, my favorite poem, making the most of 24 hours, and a swaggy dance
Dearest Readers,
I come to you from my little casita in Venice Beach. I arrived Sunday exhausted and ready to relax, only to discover my “fully furnished” place wasn’t quite fully furnished. I immediately went into triage mode. I needed towels, bedding, cups and plates, a trash can. I suppressed the surge to jump right back on a flight and return to New York, for this inconvenience felt momentarily earth shattering and I was so, so tired.
The next morning, I took a break from my long buying-the-essentials quest to meet up with a girl names Chloe. For weeks leading up to my trip, I scoured the internet in search of a surf skate—a skateboard with super loose trucks that helps you learn to turn your surfboard—and Chloe had exactly what I was looking for. I’ve learned Facebook Marketplace meetings can be strange and sometimes a little sketchy, but this one felt straight out of a movie. There was Chloe, a California vision with long blonde hair and an easy attitude, sipping on an iced matcha. I confessed I hadn’t rode a surf skate before and she took her time teaching me the stance, the kick off, cheering me on when I did a little turn. I talked about how much I’d grown to love surfing and she felt the same way about skating. We agreed adulthood needed more play. “It’s a supercharger for the soul,” she said.
Enjoy today’s throwback edition, an exploration of that very notion. And have a wonderufl weekend! I’ll be surf skating, surfing, and horseback riding! If things go my way, I’ll spend at least 50% of my time in California outside.
A Note From the Editor
On the first day of sixth grade at a tiny arts school in Central Florida, I wore a black shirt with a vaguely oriental orange tiger emblazoned on the front. The tiger was made of fuzzy felt, a different texture than the rest of the shirt, and I had shorts to match—the outfit probably came in a set from JCPenny or K-Mart. I wore no makeup, clunky tennis shoes, and a JanSport backpack. In the coming years of middle school, my aesthetic would evolve time and time again, shape-shifting with the seasons. Seventh grade would bring in a valley girl breeze by way of two new girls I wanted to be friends with; dyed blonde hair, clingy, layered tank tops from Hollister, light-faded, low-slung ripped jeans from Abercrombie.
Eighth grade would mark a darker iteration of self; a choppy haircut dyed brownish-black, thick charcoal eyeliner at all times, studded belts and butterfly clips. more deviation would come this year, the birth of my boundary-pushing teenage self. A secret relationship with a girl whose house I would sleep over on weekends, a new crowd of older friends who would introduce me to drugs, male attention in a way I’d never known before. Shoplifting, saying yes to everything and anything. Managing to stay out all night and never get in trouble for it.
Though it seems crazy to me looking back, that I got away with all of the reckless things I did, it becomes less surprising when you consider the fact that adolescence is synonymous with transformation. Teenagers are supposed to experiment, to be moody and constantly in flux. There is a natural grace baked into this brief period of life that grants people permission to try on new skins, working under the assumption that said skins are merely phases. You will be preppy, then emo, then you will be normal. Teenage years are treated as a poorly decorated hallway we pass through on the stroll to adulthood. The hallway might be chaotic and worrisome at times, but there’s light at the end of the tunnel. And because we are only to walk through it once, we are allowed to explore all of the gradients of it.
Many adults I speak to, those in their late 20’s to mid 30’s in particular, often say they don’t actually feel like adults. The responsibility is there, sure, but they thought—we thought—we’d have more answers by now. This dissonance happens because of the way we treat adulthood all our lives; as a fixed point, a doorway we step through when we reach a certain age where we expect, suddenly, to become all-knowing and capable. Perhaps adulthood gets such a bad rap for the pressure we put on it. Certain groups of adults seem to have nothing good to say about being alive during this period of life—it is hard, work is hard, “adulting” (a phrase that should be outlawed) is hard. The internet is rife with memes about five-day hangovers, endless bills, and a general air of hopelessness disguised as shoddy humor. Adulting, am I right?
In the worst case, adults spend their days looking back at happier times, simpler times, like adolescence, when responsibilities were lessened and stakes were lower. We sit in a pool of stagnant water, call it adulthood, and we become fixed. We no longer permit ourselves the space to explore, to play, to shed old skins, and grow new ones. And if we try to change, sound the alarm. What would’ve simply been considered natural exploration or development during our formative years is now deemed a crisis, mid-life or otherwise. You want a new career or a red sports car? You want to have an affair, to open up your relationship, to move to the mountains in Colorado? You’re having a mid-life crisis. Such drastic change is not realistic, it’s not socially acceptable. You’re an adult, you need to Grow Up and Stay Put just where you are.
Branding the desire to make a change later in life as a crisis is proof that our collective idea of adulthood is maiming. What if we could open our minds to what it means to “grow up,” if we could allow ourselves space for constant evolution rather than buying into the notion that getting older has to be a narrowing experience? What if we gave people the space to change over and over again and didn’t call it a crisis, but a miracle to be celebrated and discussed and replicated?
I’m experiencing something like this now—out of the country, out of New York, out of my comfort zone. I wake up here and I’m the same person I’ve always been, but there is space for more of me to come through, free from the expectations of my regular adult life. No one here knows me as Meghan, who writes for at least two hours every morning and reads certain types of books and has certain types of friends, who goes to certain types of bars and lives in this neighborhood and has that apartment. Here I am just Meghan. I’m discovering who that person can be when freed from all of the unimportant, performative elements of life.
I am more playful, I don't berate myself for staying up late or getting off schedule—I hardly have a schedule and yet everything finds a way to get accomplished. I discover profound beauty in so many regular moments; a yellow butterfly crossing my path, a girl on the shore snapping photos of unknowing strangers, the dopamine rush of being constantly surrounded by greenery. I feel less judgemental, more open-hearted, less in my head and more in my body. I am a teenager trying on new skin, wondering whether this outfit suits me better than the last one, questioning who I thought I was, whether my values align more closely with this slice of life or the other one. I’m extending the grace of adolescence to my adult self, delighting in the things I discover.
The answer is no answer, as there's never a definitive right or wrong, but I intuit that maybe the answer is a moving target, something that will continue to evolve as I continue to have the pleasure of being alive. I am not fixed; none of us are. In different environments, different skins will continue to grow and shed and grow again. We can treat our entire lives like adolescence—not in the sense of reckless abandon, but in a way that permits exploration and change without the unnecessary shadow of judgment. Someone I met here who I deeply care for and respect told me a story about a man who’d been married eight different times. I was surprised. Eight times? I attempted to suppress my judgment of the man’s character as the story continued. He’d been married eight times to the same woman, he said, because she’d changed so much over the course of their marriage that every few years, it felt like he was marrying someone new.
I thought about that story for days afterward, as it is such a beautiful summation of the cyclical nature of life and a wildly romantic notion—the idea we can accept that another person will only ever change and change and change again, but that we might choose to know them still, to continue loving them in all of their shifting forms. That we might find a way to extend that love to ourselves, too, despite the changes time will bring forth.Cheers, my dears, and as always, thanks for reading. If you find value in my work, please consider opting for a paid subscription to this newsletter.
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Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
Why Strangers Are Good For Us. How do you feel about talking to strangers? I’ve always found it to be one of life’s sweetest, simplest gifts, and I can recount some of the most impactful conversations I’ve ever had with people I would only meet once. Technology has made talking to strangers much more easily avoidable—every time I walk down the streets of Manhattan and see ears plugged with AirPods or people staring at their phones, I consider how disconnected we’ve become—but also, COVID made talking to strangers feel even more forbidden. Dangerous, in some cases. A beautiful essay about what talking to strangers does for us and why we should make an effort to do it more often.
This Close. I’m no poet, but I’ve grown to love poetry over the past few years and have also dabbled in poetry myself. It’s been an interesting exercise, writing poetry and seeing what comes out. I’ve learned I mostly write love poems, or poems about nature, or poems about womanhood. Just yesterday I sent my talented poet friend a new one I’d written and she commented on how my poetry is sensual and intimate—a high compliment from her, a talented, Pushcart-nominated poet (this one of hers makes me cry). Her comment brought me back to this poem by Dorianne Laux, one of my all-time favorites, the epitome of sensuality and a beautiful meditation on the duality of sex and love.
How to Make the Most of Your 24 Hours. Don’t be alarmed; this is not one of those optimize-your-life lists that is going to stress you out. Instead, this is a quick, simple suggestion for how to make the most of your day, refreshingly framed in such a way that values presence and daily transcendence over doing. Just yesterday, I realized I haven’t made but one or two to-do lists while I’ve been out of the country—back home, I had a weekly list broken down by day that would give me ulcers—and as a result, I’ve felt happier, and more fulfilled; less time doing and more time living.
Perhaps You Should… Not Call the Police
We may not agree on everything—or anything! This newsletter is read by all different sorts of people all over the world, and for that, I am immensely grateful—but it feels to me there has been a general consensus among all different sorts of people that the police are not equipped, resourced, or trained to handle many of the calls they get. Police in America have become a one-stop shop for mental illness, domestic abuse, substance abuse, housing issues, etc., and in many instances, the results are nil at best, tragic at worse. Don’t Call the Police is a wonderful resource with community-based alternatives of who to call when you’re dealing with certain situations. We love to see it.
**Bonus Content** (Big Suprise Party Energy)
Anyone who knows me well knows that all I’ve ever, EVER wanted for my birthday was a surprise party. Every year since I was a kid, I’ve walked into various situations with bated breath, waiting for the surprise that never comes. SAD! Needless to say, I totally feel this girl’s energy and it is equal parts ridiculous and hilarious.
Plus, this song pierces my soul, this level of swag is unreal, and a big fuck-yeah to this.
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“Had they known at these moments to be quietly joyful? Most likely not. People mostly did not know enough when they were living life that they were living it.”
-Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.
Absolutely love the quote you shared. “Quietly joyful” captures so much of what I hope to channel, being a bit more present in each moment.