The years leading up to my 50th birthday, saw an amplification of certain aspects of my luggage. I call it luggage because I can decide what I want to pack or not pack as I travel on my journey in life. I’ve had this yearning for simplicity in the last decade of my life hence this analogy is one that resonates with me. I’ve been saying for a long time that when I go on my next travels, I want to be able to pack all my belongings in one medium sized bag. Over the last couple of months during lockdown, I’ve been slowly paring down my stuff.
BUT I digress.
Age had never bothered me before and it still doesn’t. Yet, shortly after I’d turned 50 – I became painfully aware that statistically, I had less time left on this planet and so ensued my existential crises of note! Or perhaps it was MY mid-life crises. The year before I turned 50, I lost my father, which sort of helped to catapult me into a primordial angst-ridden funk, where my mortality was painfully brought home. I realised, phrases like ‘a certain age’ and ‘Middle Age’ with all its societal connotations was an actual thing! Most of my friends were going through very similar experiences. We banded like members of a cult helping one another find meaning through sharing our experiences. Some mid-lifers were painfully focused on the physical changes in their bodies while others went deep and embarked on their own night of the soul expedition. I was more part of the latter crew. We had long deep conversations, sharing and exposing ourselves. Laying bare our vulnerabilities and insecurities.
I felt broken and disconnected from everything and everyone, including myself! I remember having this distinct thought – I did Not want to drag all my crap and life dramas (of course this only pertained to those which I was conscious of) into however many years I have left.
I wanted to shed light into my darkness.
The yearning I had been experiencing for most of life became palpable and with it the whispers of a possible new dawning. I could feel my adventurous spirit which I’d buried, stirring.
What did this look like 5 Years later? I’d left my fairly well-paid job, got help for my addictions through therapy, faced and owned some serious dramas within my circle of people who are close to me, ended a 23-year marriage and embarked on a new journey. One where I get to choose. Where I take full responsibility for my life.
Becoming the architect of your own life is by no means easy. This blog is my space for sharing my warts and all, and maybe, just maybe someone reading this can feel and know – you are not alone.