How I Spent My Midlife Crisis

Men get the credit for having midlife crises, but women have them, too. Or, at least that’s what I’m telling myself, because I spent all summer reveling in mine. At first I didn’t know what was happening … and I didn’t care. If I was going crazy, well, it was a fun kind of crazy, so I went with it. It didn’t occur to me that I was having a midlife crisis until the cravings started … for a convertible. I was disappointed that I was going to have such a prosaic crisis: every middle-aged guy wants a convertible, coupled with a gorgeous younger woman in the passenger seat. I wanted the same thing, except for the fictional vampire sitting next to me, his mop of bronze-colored hair blowing in the wind as he drove. Of course he would be driving. He’s pushy that way, or at least he is in the Twilight books.

Every day of my summer was spent reading and re-reading those books and watching the movie over and over and over. When I got to my thirteenth viewing, my friend, John, said he was “concerned.” His criticism irked me, until he said that he was worried about the number thirteen and he urged me to watch the movie again, as quickly as possible. No problem agreeing to that.

My taste in music changed dramatically, too. I never used to listen to music on the radio; I only listened to talk radio. Now I was listening to current music and trying to convince my thirteen-year-old niece that Miley Cyrus was a really good singer.

Wine is also playing a rather significant role in my experience. I’m hoping that my husband doesn’t put the kibosh on this facet of my entertaining crisis, but if he does, then maybe I’ll be able to remember it. Win-win, I say.

Technology still befuddles me, but I’ve decided to confront it, rather than back away. My new BlackBerry has me flummoxed but instead of beating it to death with a hammer, I’m actually trying to figure it out. I may be figuring it out long after our contract with Verizon expires, but I’m determined to learn how to make a call on it. Then, someday, perhaps I’ll be able to answer a call or take a picture. But, I’m getting ahead of myself here. Baby steps.

My dreams have become very compelling. I can’t sleep enough these days, because the feature-length movies that play in my head are Oscar-worthy. Especially since I star in all of them.

One of the most promising aspects of my delusional state is that I’ve overcome my fear of starting something new. I want to start everything new. I’ve invented something that I’m sure will make me millions, I started a blog, I learned to kayak, and I plan to learn French and write The Great American Novel. There aren’t enough hours in the day to do all I want to do, especially since my dreams are always ready to screen, and the Twilight books are constantly singing their siren song.

Some things have fallen by the wayside at this point in my life, though. Cooking and cleaning just don’t hold any interest for me anymore. Last night, my husband asked what smelled so good. It turned out he was smelling the popcorn our son had burned earlier that day. We have an occasional housekeeper, now, to keep the dust down. It’s a major luxury and I don’t even mind that she steals. Considering what she has to do to put the house in order, I figure if she can find it, she can have it.

Sadly, fall is in the air, school is starting, and the nights are getting shorter. I sense that my delightful crisis might be coming to an end. So, I plan to get out there and enjoy the last days of this invigorating phase before it’s gone. Maybe it’ll come back again next year. One can only hope.