Just yesterday, I attended a mommy-and-me class with my little ones when an older woman entered our circle of friends, all in their early 30s, discussing our weekend plans. When the topic of a 30th birthday celebration arose, the older mom took a deep breath and remarked, “You all are so young,” with a half-smile. “I feel like such an old lady,” she joked.
While she was certainly past 40, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy. Here we were, brimming with youthful energy and excitement, while she seemed to be engaging in activities more suited for an older crowd. But that was yesterday—literally eight years ago. Fast forward to today, and I find myself on the other side of 40, observing fresh-faced moms as they guide their infants down the street and strap them into car seats. Time has undeniably left its mark on me, visible through the lines on my face and the silver streaks in my hair. I’ve got kids who can fend for themselves and new aches in my back when I rise from sitting.
Let me be clear: don’t feel sorry for me. I’m having a blast, possibly more than you are. Any so-called “crazy” things I choose to do that might be labeled a midlife crisis? Just save your breath; that’s not what’s happening here. Allow me to share a little story.
When I was nine, my father, Tom, came home with a massive 10-gallon hat. We lived in Staten Island, New York, a borough famed for its garbage dump and delicious Italian cuisine. Out of nowhere, my dad—a tough Brooklynite—began to embrace country music. His car was filled with Johnny Cash tapes, and he swapped his velour tracksuits for flashy cowboy shirts. Sporting enormous belt buckles, he became known in the neighborhood as “Cowboy Tom,” and we all laughed about what seemed like a midlife crisis.
Now, let’s jump ahead a few decades. A few years back, as I approached my 39th birthday, I found myself tuning into hip-hop and rediscovering my love for grunge. It was around this time that I decided to finally get that tattoo I’d always wanted. I ended up with several tattoos and began wearing sleeveless tops to flaunt them. My shorts got shorter in the summer, and I ditched the baby weight, opting for heels again. I even leased a convertible—playfully dubbed “Dad’s car”—and drove down highways blasting my favorite hip-hop tracks. I cut ties with people who brought negativity into my life and made a conscious effort to plan more exciting nights out with friends.
This wasn’t a desperate cry for help. My younger self might have labeled it a midlife crisis, and yes, even my mother questioned if everything was alright. But the truth is much simpler: I was doing things because I wanted to—not because I was aging or bored or reflecting on my mortality.
If you’re fortunate, hitting middle age provides a refreshing perspective. You still feel youthful but begin to understand that there’s no reason to avoid pursuits that genuinely delight you. You care less about others’ opinions, stop attending events just because you were invited, and move on from friendships that don’t serve you. You realize there’s plenty of life ahead, yet it’s not infinite. Reflecting on my father’s antics at nine, I now recognize he was simply embracing his passions, unbothered by age.
Once you reach a stage where you start prioritizing joy over others’ perceptions and eliminate toxic influences from your life, that’s when the real fun begins. So, please, don’t feel pity for me—I’m just getting started. And whatever you call this newfound joy, just know it’s not a midlife crisis. You can label it however you wish; I simply don’t care!
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Summary
A personal reflection on embracing life after 40, the author shares how aging has brought clarity and joy rather than a crisis. Emphasizing the importance of pursuing happiness and letting go of toxic relationships, the piece highlights the liberation that comes with middle age.