Maybe the Mid-life Crisis Isn’t a Crisis
The script is as follows:
- Get good grades
- Go to university
- Get a good job
- Get married
- Buy a house
- Have kids ← I am here
- Retire at 65
- Die
They told us we’d be happy.
This is just how you do life. This is all there is. If you don’t do this, you’re (insert pejorative).
It all makes sense to me now — the mid-life crisis.
The realization that you did all the things you were supposed to do, and happiness and contentment remain as elusive as ever. Sure, we’re generally happy people, but what I really mean is true fulfillment. The ability to sit back and say:
“Wow. Life is good. This all meant something.”
This is why people buy the fancy car. Get the divorce. Have the affair. Quit their job and disappear into the woods.
You’re trapped in a life that was prescribed as the path to everything you could ever dream of. And now you wake up in the morning and look in the mirror and ask:
“Is this it? Is this all there is?”
You have kids you barely know because you’ve been working your ass off just to keep food on the table and the lights on. A spouse you slowly lose touch with because if you’re not working, you’re at soccer practice. You feel like you’re failing in every department.
But then you look around at everyone on the train into work in the morning and think:
“Is it just me? Am I the only one who thinks something is wrong here?”
Everyone looks like zombies. There’s no light behind their eyes. Is there any behind mine? How did I get here?
That out-of-body feeling that reminds you of The Matrix. Is any of this even real?
Because the things they told us to buy aren’t helping. The cars, the clothes, the house, the toys. The thrill of the chase never ends, and it’s insatiable.
Something snapped into place for me after I had kids.
The realization that there is nothing at the end of the corporate ladder. That all the money in the world can’t buy back the time I’ve lost with my kids — and I don’t know how much time I have left ahead of me.
The excitement I once felt walking into a high rise full of cubicles, beautiful views, and people working away has transitioned into pity.
Pity for the Gen Xers and Boomers still here, putting off retirement for “a couple more years” — which somehow always turns into ten. As though this is all they have left now that the opportunity to spend time with their kids has already passed.
Because the company says “we’re family,” yet none of them will show up to your funeral.
Pity for the Millennials still chasing. The ones who wanted to “build their career before settling down,” and now don’t — or can’t — have kids. Too busy girlbossing, or whatever the male equivalent is. Burning themselves out only to be rewarded with a re-org and a severance package because they became too expensive.
Pity for Gen Z entering a broken work culture where they’ll be chewed up and spit out for being young, cheap, and energetic — only to eventually get replaced by AI anyway.
And then pity for myself.
For being naive enough to believe money and status were the definition of success. For letting Hollywood glamorize the corner office and the exciting corporate life while portraying family as disposable and relationships as transactional.
I used to tell myself the best revenge was becoming more successful. But I had no idea what success actually meant.
Now?
All I want are slow mornings with my kids. Nourishing food on the table. Nature. Books. Genuine friendships. Work that feels meaningful and symbiotic with my life.
Freedom.
That’s my new definition of success.
And that’s my mid-life crisis.
Luckily for me, my husband feels the same way.
We’re building a life around our family unit. Slowing down the hustle. Pulling our kids out of school to homeschool them. Uprooting our lives to create an environment that aligns with our values instead of forcing ourselves to conform to a culture that no longer fits who we are.
Do people look at us like we’re insane? Of course.
Is it going to be hard? Absolutely.
But there is a certain amount of peace that comes with choosing your hard rather than accepting the hard that was handed to you.
A strange thrill when people think you’ve totally lost it.
Because it means you’ve finally started living your life for yourself and are letting go of approval of the masses.
Flirting with Freedom.
Tearing up the script.
— HHH