Chapter 1: The Midlife Perspective

What comes first, the midlife experience or the crisis associated with it? Does reaching midlife trigger a crisis, or do a series of crises compel us to confront our midlife reality? For me, crossing the fifty mark has been less about the number of years lived and more about the significant introspection that comes with this stage of life. It prompts essential questions about purpose: what does it all mean?

This morning, I received a message from an old acquaintance sharing the news of her separation after 27 years of marriage, similar to my own situation. We met fifteen years ago, bonding over our children at the local pool. I vividly recall her long, straight hair and tattoos, standing out among the other mothers in their modest swimwear. Our lives were chaotic back then—juggling snacks, managing disputes, and seeking shelter from sudden storms.

Later, I encountered another friend who seemed hesitant when I asked how she was. After a moment, she revealed her husband is battling brain cancer and is now in a wheelchair. Our families have shared countless memories, from school events to choir practices. As she walked away, all I could manage was repeated apologies.

In the afternoon, a close friend visited to see my new home. When I inquired about her children, she hesitated, reluctant to share her son’s friend's tragic news: the boy's father took his own life just before graduation. What should have been a time of celebration has turned into profound sorrow, leaving my friend reeling for both the family affected and her own son's loss of a joyful experience.

In recent months, I have attended three funerals for my friends' parents, received a call about my father's ashes, and signed divorce papers. Night after night, I wake drenched in menopausal sweats, tossing aside wet clothes to find a dry spot in my bed, which has felt empty since my husband’s infidelity was revealed four years ago.

My older daughter is about to graduate from college, my son is completing his first year across the country, and my youngest has quickly transitioned into adolescence, asking for braces and wanting to walk home alone from school. I had hoped to prolong the years of having kids at home, yet even she is eager to grow up.

Is midlife characterized not by a single awakening but rather by a series of crises that continually signal change? The only certainty seems to be that more troubling news is inevitable: illness, loss, and separation.

Not long ago, it was uncommon to hear of someone our age facing severe health issues. Now, such news is shockingly frequent—a friend battling incurable lung cancer or another whose husband is grappling with an inoperable tumor. As divorce became my own reality, I went from feeling isolated to offering support to others in similar situations, sharing resources for legal and emotional help.

Chapter 2: The Sandwich Generation Experience

I’ve come to understand the concept of the “sandwich generation,” a term coined by social workers in the 1980s to describe those caught between raising children and caring for aging parents—most often, women. My own experience hit home recently as I arranged for my eleven-year-old to stay with her father while I traveled to help my eighty-year-old mother, who had injured herself.

This sandwich metaphor feels too tidy for my reality. Am I the turkey wedged between two slices of gluten-free bread, or something messier? What if I find myself with an empty nest yet still tending to my mother? Am I an open-faced sandwich then, or perhaps just the filling if my daughter remains at home but I lose my mother?

The imagery of a sandwich fails to encapsulate the complexity of my situation. It’s more akin to the taco generation—one bite and everything collapses—or the ice cream sandwich generation, which starts neat but quickly becomes a sticky mess. Or maybe it’s like a pizza; enjoy it too eagerly, and you burn your mouth, but wait too long, and it loses its appeal.

I have no desire to relive my teenage years, especially in the era of social media, nor do I want to revisit the challenges of new motherhood, feeling like a sleep-deprived zombie. My forties began with promise, but by forty-seven, I was separated, and at forty-nine, I discovered my biological father was not who I thought. Shortly before my fiftieth birthday, I was told I had to leave our family home.

I’m not longing for the past, nor am I fixated solely on the future. I want to inhabit this moment, appreciating life as it is, knowing that everything can shift unexpectedly—much like the taco that splits or the ice cream sandwich that becomes a sticky mess in your hands.

When I was younger, my days blurred into a routine of school events and grocery shopping, where a bad day was defined by a cranky baby. Now, a good day is simply one where nothing significant occurs, while a bad day brings troubling news. Today, hearing three separate heart-wrenching updates about friends is sadly becoming the norm.

I used to think a midlife crisis was marked by impulsive decisions—getting a sports car or a tattoo in an effort to reclaim youth. When I shared my husband’s affair with friends, they labeled it a midlife crisis, but I’ve never wholly accepted that notion. A true crisis, I believe, is when life forces change upon you, whether through abandonment, a life-altering diagnosis, or the loss of a loved one.

The dual nature of midlife allows us to redefine our lives on our own terms. After years of constructing our families and homes, we may emerge to find our lives no longer suit us. Life can change rapidly, and while too much bad news can overwhelm us, it can also awaken us to the possibility of change. Such changes are not crises; they mark the beginning of resolution, at least for now.

In my twenties, I thought I had everything figured out, while my single friends envied my life. They desired the changes I had, but I never saw them as being in crisis. Now, in our fifties, we are more than two decades older than our younger selves, yet we still crave change and growth.

So what’s the takeaway? It’s the same as it has always been: to evolve, to nurture, to love, and to embrace change with openness and curiosity.