Loving Mid-Life
Loving Mid-Life
Why was I so convinced that my 40s would usher in energetic decay?
“The first task is to build a strong ‘container’ or identity; the second is to find the contents that the container was meant to hold.” — Richard Rohr, Falling Upward
I’m in Australia right now after an incredible week in Montana with my kids—we landed at LAX Saturday night, I did some laundry, ditched my Wranglers, repacked, and was on a flight to Melbourne on Sunday night. This type of turnaround isn’t my favorite, but as I walked through the Botanical Gardens on my way to Mecca HQ after landing, I noted that I wasn’t dragging—and that I’m finally ready to put a story I’ve been dragging around down, too.
This is what I’ve believed about energy and productivity:
My 20s would be the decade I needed to (almost) exclusively devote my life to work in order to transition my “job” into a “career.” This is what I did, to the detriment of my personal life, though staying single until 29 helped! I worked all the time.
My 30s would be the “go” decade in which I’d have the most creative output and energy, and the greatest opportunities to express this into the world. This is the time when I’d need to plant the seeds I’d rely on to survive for the rest of my life. I did my part, continued to work all the time, and had my boys.
I assumed that the rest of my life would then go something like this:
My 40s and 50s would be for reaping the harvest and hoping it would be enough to result in something—wisdom, expertise, job security—as I expected the pace of my previous output would wane and I’d feel tired and unable to summon the same enthusiasm.
My 60s would require some sort of forced retirement, as I’d age out, be irrelevant and out-of-touch with the “market.” Or something like that.
But when my 40s arrived, life didn’t go as planned. First, COVID, and then I ended up out on my own, a chapter in my life that began when I was 40, approaching 41. At that point, I’d ghostwritten 12 books and had only ever worked for other people and brands—over the course of two decades, I’d churned out a lot of content, but I didn’t own any of this IP. I was angry with myself that I’d “wasted” the most productive period of my life with nothing to show for it. My story was that my most productive years were in the rear-view mirror and that I’d wasted a lot of time.
From late 2020 through 2021, I wrote On Our Best Behavior while doing little else, secreted away in my bedroom because of COVID and because I had no other significant draws on my time. (I ghost-wrote a book concurrently, but it didn’t feel like a huge lift.) I convinced myself that this type of single-minded devotion would be the only way for me to functionally operate going forward, that I needed to safeguard my energy because it was finite and I was already on borrowed time. In late 2021, I launched Pulling the Thread, and a year or so after that, this weekly newsletter. But the story persisted: I was convinced I was running on fumes, that the other shoe would drop any day, and that I couldn’t be leisurely about any of it because my energy was definitely going to run out.
A few months ago, a friend gifted me a birthday reading with astrologer Ravi Karr—a reading that was different than any I had received before. He told me that the sole purpose of this life for me is to feel valued. That’s it. And then he explained the polarity of my personality—introverted hermit balanced by a need to set a “vibe” within a community and hold the energy of a group. Back and forth, back and forth. He also told me that my chart has an inordinate amount of energy, and that if I ever feel burnt out, there’s a problem that requires a re-set, that if this happens, it’s because the work isn’t resonant or aligned. I told him that I’d been fixated on the belief that my energy would soon be dwindling, that I was on borrowed time, and he told me that was a fantasy. My energy isn’t going anywhere.
The other day, I saw a former colleague from earlier in our careers and as we caught up on our lives, she asked me what I was up to. “Oh,” I told her. “I’m researching and writing my next book. I just finished a workbook for On Our Best Behavior (coming early next year with the paperback). I’m wrapping up a ghostwriting project and kicking off another ghostwriting project next month. I’m sitting on some boards and doing a long-term, intensive consulting project. I’m writing a weekly newsletter and hosting a weekly podcast, though sometimes I do two episodes a week…”
As I trailed on and on and on, I had to laugh at myself. I’m producing far more work than I ever have—at any point in my life—and apparently I’ve been doing this for years now. I’ve built an encyclopedia of content that I actually own. And I did all of this while lamenting the loss of the most productive years of my life. It makes no sense because it was a really stupid story.
I write and talk a lot about our unconscious commitment to stories—specifically about what it is to be a “good” woman and perform that role in your life. And yet this story—that physical energy must wane significantly in mid-life—really took me out at the knees. I don’t think that my astrological chart and its apparently abundant energy source is the deciding factor, either—I just needed someone to call B.S. and remind me of reality. When I look at my friends in mid-life, they all seem to be cooking with an inordinate amount of gas too.
My friend Dan Bienenfeld said something to me recently that I’ve been thinking about a lot—he mentioned that people often equate freedom with the ability to say yes, but that freedom might be more connected with the ability to say no. To choose what is and what is not for you, to choose where you spend your time. I think this the most significant difference in getting older—as I’ve aged, my agency and freedom have increased. I don’t know if this is a privilege or a function of experience, or some combination of both. I don’t really do anything that I don’t want to do anymore—I no longer feel compelled to say yes to everything, including to work or projects for which I don’t have enthusiasm. I choose what I do based on whether the energy for the project comes easily, in an undeniable way—does the prospect fill my body with excitement, or leave me feeling flat?
Enthusiasm is one of my favorite words because of its etymology—it comes from enthousiasmos (Greek), which is “to be inspired or possessed by god.” I love its spiritual intimitations, that your efforts are being aided and abetted by the divine, as some force comes through you. That it’s your job to set the container—and the rest will take care of itself as a co-creation. It reminds me of the quote from Richard Rohr above, that the first half of life is about establishing the structure for identity and following the rules—the second half of life is for animating the structure, realizing your purpose or contribution, and bringing it to the world. And to that end, perhaps that’s where my energy has waned, actually pretty significantly: I’m not so interested in the container or protecting my identity or abiding by the rules. That leaves me wanting to take a nap. I’m done with the first half of my life. Going forward, I want to believe that all of this energy I feel is solely for what matters for the next shift—because at this point in my life, there’s a lot that matters, and a lot that’s at stake.
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My New York Times bestselling book—On Our Best Behavior: The Seven Deadly Sins and the Price Women Pay to be Good—is out now.
Carl Jung has said :
“Life really does begin at forty. Up until then, you are just doing research.” Here’s to our blossoming.
Wow what a prolific writer you are, be proud and yes one of the best decisions I ever made was saying no to things or people that no longer brought me joy, allowing more time for me to say yes and do the things I wanted to, go girl, you’ve got this xx