I don't think I'm having one. A midlife crisis that is. I've never really committed to one particular thing long enough to have to shift in any dramatic way. I'm always trying something new, learning a little about a lot, exploring opportunities, and falling into romantic relationships that are wildly different from any of the ones before.
But with the relationship part, while the men have all been exceptionally different, there seems to be one theme running through all of them. The midlife crisis.
There was a 4-year relationship with a boisterous, tattooed Harley rider who had just lost custody of his children, because of some false accusations leveled by a woman with whom he'd been madly in love. We were both kidding each other in believing that our relationship would sustain that kind of tragedy.
Then another five years with an adventurous mountain-climbing engineer who had quit his corporate job to go to culinary school. I remember the time his best friend told me that everyone thought I was his midlife crisis. I knew it didn’t feel great to hear that, but I wasn’t sure why, and it didn’t really seem like a problem. I guess I hadn’t thought through the fleeting nature of the midlife crisis.
And most recently, and presently, a "not-actually-a-relationship" relationship with a gentle and patient man, who has a mysterious sense of intuition and is devastatingly handsome. He owns his own business and seems to have it all together. But he was in an 18-year relationship until a few years ago and admittedly hasn’t really figured out what he wants to do next.
Handsome intuition guy is approaching 50, and it's funny to me that all of the times he tells me he doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life, it never occurs to me that once again, I have made myself a part of someone's midlife crisis. Actually, it's kind of not funny at all. And it had never occurred to me until today.
This reflection started this morning when an email popped up from the mountain-climbing engineer chef, who emailed a newsletter to the opt-in customers of his side-hustle grass-fed beef business.
During my midlife crisis, I went to culinary school. I was in a job I didn't like, wasn't good at, with a long commute. So, I quit. Somewhat embarrassed that I was not working, I kept this fact secret from all but my closest friends and family. Culinary school, on the other hand, was thrilling, hard, and satisfying. I remember tapping out a newsletter (much like this) at the end of a long day, exhausted and covered in flour. And I didn't care - or, better, I did care - and I loved it.
Long has it been since those halcyon days of getting up and cooking delicious food, all day, every day. I returned to work-a-day life. Still, that four months of intense training has stuck with me. I now confidently invite friends for dinner, mix batters and butters, braise and butterfly; I cook the Christmas spread - all without recipes. I just cook.
Now might be a good time to mention that he met me two weeks before he started culinary school. And I was there. Supporting him, sampling his new culinary skills, and hoping that he would love me as much as he loved cooking. Or at least almost as much. (Being the center of someone's world is not my aspiration.)
You'll note he described those days as halcyon, which indicates he believed them to be idyllic and peaceful. But then after four months he returned to "work-a-day" life. I’m not sure I would describe our life together that way. We went on amazing adventures all over the world and right at home, and every Wednesday we turned off the main breaker to the house for what we deemed "No Electricity Wednesday," and played Bananagrams by candlelight. For almost five years. When he says "long has it been since those halcyon days," what he means by long is six years. We've been apart for a little over a year. Apparently, those five years after culinary school, with me, were not halcyonic. (Who uses the word halcyon, anyway?)
My love has never been conditional. A tattooed Harley rider who decides he needs to learn to play golf in order to network with sales clients? Sure. I can hang out at country clubs. A culinary student who passionately explores the art and then returns to Corporate America? Sure. I still think you're fascinating no matter what you're doing. Sexy intuition guy who seems more interested in me after a few Johnnie Walker Black and Cokes? That's ok. We’ll just drink more. My love is unconditional.
Clearly, I need to start adding some conditions to my love. Because I feel like I’ve been through three midlife crises in the last 15 years, and none of them have been mine.
As a cliché, the standard idea of a midlife crisis for a man is to buy a sporty car and hook up with a much younger woman. Something flashy. Something shiny. Something likely fleeting, which I suppose makes it easy to dive in, as this tectonic shift really doesn’t require any real commitment.
Everything just seems like experimentation.
It’s pretty unclear to me why these men have been attracted to me in some way. I’m 42. I’m not flashy and I’m not shiny. I’m also not unattractive, but I'm certainly no arm candy. But I am different.
I've never been married, I don't have kids, have never owned a house, and am not really tied to anything at all. A golden retriever claims me as hers and I own a 13-year-old car. My life is ripe to mesh with someone else's.
So it makes sense that I go well with someone who has unapologetically started a new life - because I'm easy. I can easily just slide right into someone else's life, with very little of their own effort. Very little compromise on their part. Just an accessory to their life.
Or not. There’s also the other side of the crisis that seems to lead to some sort of inability to make decisions about anything, and in those cases I’m the one who is attracted. Enter here sexy intuition guy. I’m a sucker for confused feelings and have made it some sort of mission to sit with people in those situations, all the while feeling closer and falling in love while the other person is moving farther away as the confusion clears and the clarity spinner points to no when it comes to the two of us.
I may sound ungrateful here, so let me just say that I have deep appreciation for the experiences that these relationships have afforded me. And of course, much of the time, these relationships were really extraordinary. But without any level of real commitment, and I'm not talking about marriage here, none of them were more than exceptional friendships. I was, and am, heavily invested in situations that lack the deep intimacy of which I dream.
These men are not terrible people. Not at all. Not one of them. The responsibility is mine.
So you have to kind of wonder what is it that attracts me to these men. Am I attracted to the same thing they are? Something flashy? Something shiny? Something likely not to last? Do I have a fear of commitment? Am I just apathetic? I mean, I’ve never really committed to anything except making a commitment to win over men who don’t want to commit. That’s pretty fucked up.
It’s possible that I’m so afraid of being completely annihilated by the loss of a truly intimate connection that I only allow myself to get involved with men who are incapable of forming that kind of connection with me.
I thought about making a list of conditions to my love, but I just don't think I can do that. Everyone's situation is so unique and everyone deserves love. It’s probable that I’ll just keep doing this unconditional love thing. Not sure I would want it any other way.
But when I meet someone new I will start asking myself one important question: _______________?
Well, the important question is how I wanted to end this. But fuck if I know what it is.
By the way, I think I need to opt-out of the engineer chef’s email newsletter.
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