Thoughts on the “Mid Life Crisis”

We all go through changes in our life, from being a helpless baby to a toddler to a child to that pre-teen mess to a teenager and then to an adult. We move along the journey through our 20s, 30s and 40s like there’s no tomorrow. And then we start to approach 50.

Fifty years old in America is a pretty big number in our lives. We realize that most of our life is behind us. That for the vast majority of us, the course of our life is set, the sails are open full and we are now holding on tight for the rest of the ride.

Sure, for some of us, the course can be changed, but our ship is not as resilient to the ever changing waves of life that surrounds us.

It is during this time that we also see the demise of our parents, uncles, aunts, older cousins. We start seeing our friends die one by one, an accident here, cancer there, an odd medical condition that took them at too young of an age. We realize that our life force from now on is less in our control and this realization disturbs some of us.

It seems that I’ve been in the mid-life funk for more time that I should. I see the beauty of life’s cycle. I know that my time on Earth is limited and I must give way for the next generation of life. I guess Dylan Thomas knew me well…

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

I hope for as much time as He will give me. I want to see my child’s child. But I must move past the rage of the inevitability of my demise.

There is still so much that CAN be done.

Why do we wallow in what is lost? Why not relish in what still can be found!

Interstellar

Never give up…

 

 

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