The (New?) Middle Ages

I’m not sure I ever “acted like a teenager.” Though my mother would probably call some of my angstier moments into question. And I’m pretty sure I never “experienced” college life, what with my college years playing back more like Saved by the Bell’s variety, rather than those of 90210. No Peach Pit After Dark for me…sometimes I wonder, what if?

I am still fairly financially irresponsible, but not in a blow-my-paycheck-on-shoes kind of way (though, no judgement). More like a help someone pay for a funeral kind of way, when I should be saving everything I can.

I am still fairly socially inept. Though in my defense, my co-worker didn’t exactly break out into tears, when I spoke plainly. Apparently, the truth does hurt.

I am still susceptible to the girlish tingles, recently falling prey to an accidental clicking on the Jane the VIrgin link in my Netflix feed. In an apparent rejection on what I’d long believed was my type,*  I fell in lust with the lips on this guy:
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With all due respect to the many talents of Brett Dier, alas, after a three-episode binge, I realized the hairless-chestedness of youth just wasn’t for me. I guess I actually am getting a little old for some stuff. Plus, sooooo many plaid shirts.

So, at 41, what do I want out of my life?

Well, I (mostly) like my job at a community-based, nonprofit organization. Sometimes, it feels a bit kumbayaish, making the do-gooder kool aid and all. But, over all, I do get to do good, and that gets more important as time goes on.

No kids, for better or for worse (though I may not have that all figured out yet), but I’m doing better at the working on being happily married.

I do want to have more time to spend with friends, and actually make new ones. I’ve been spending more time wishing I got to see friends more, wishing I hadn’t drifted apart from so many of them, each week declaring that I will work at bringing Facebook friendships out into the real world.

Mostly, I don’t want to give up on living life MORE.

More parties.

More adventures.

More laughter.

Less work.

Less anger.

Less coffee.

More dancing.

More art.

More reading.

More family time.

Less drama.

Less anger.

I’m sure I could keep the list going, but I think I don’t want to confuse making lists with making goals. Goals aren’t just to be checked off. They’re to be well-considered, and worth the struggle to achieve. Maybe my goals shouldn’t be about how old I am, how old I should behave, how young I wish I were.

I was thinking about the term Middle Ages referring to a historical time period (around 500AD to 1500AD). It seems strange to call a set period of time Middle. As long as time moves forward, doesn’t the middle keep moving? And, these days, with technological advances moving as spectacularly fast as they do, hasn’t humanity progressed a lot farther and faster in the 50 years between 1950 – 2000, than we did in the 1,000 years of the Middle Ages? Well, I’m assuming it did. I’m not much for math or history.

Maybe I’m not yet in the middle of my life. I kind of hope not. With so many goals, I’d hate to think I’d missed the first half…

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***If I could describe my type, it would be the  Ed Harrises or Assistant Director Skinners of the world. But that doesn’t explain how I wound up with the husbands I did. That’s for another day…