Having a Moment….Not a Great One…
I never had a midlife crisis, but apparently, I am having a 60-year-old crisis.
Somewhere along the line, instead of buying a red Corvette and dating someone wildly inappropriate, I skipped straight to existential dread.
I have this overwhelming feeling lately that I may have wasted my life.
Not in the dramatic “I should have been a rock star” way. I have no musical talent beyond confidently playing the same four chords on bass and pretending it’s jazz. I mean more quietly. The kind that sneaks up on you when you’re driving home from work or standing in the grocery store comparing two brands of paper towels, like this is somehow your legacy.
You take a path because it seems like the responsible thing to do. School. Career. Marriage. Kids. Mortgage. Retirement account. Replace the water heater. Learn what mulch is. Suddenly, you are an expert in things your 22-year-old self would have considered a cry for help.
And for a long time, that path feels right because it is busy. Busy can disguise a lot. If you are constantly moving, you don’t have much time to ask if you are headed somewhere you actually wanted to go.
Then one day, you realize the road is no longer stretching out in front of you. There are fewer miles ahead than behind. That gets your attention.
You start doing inventory.
Did I spend enough time with people I love, or was I mostly banging my head against a wall at a job I didn’t like?
Did I actually enjoy my life, or was I just extremely efficient at completing obligations?
Did I choose things, or did I just keep accepting the next logical step until I woke up wondering “well, how did I get here?” (to quote Talking Heads)
This is not regret exactly. I love my family. I have had good years, great memories, and enough ridiculous stories to keep dinner conversations alive.
But I also wonder about the unlived versions of life. The ones where I didn’t get married and have kids. The selfish one where I didn’t give 30+ years of my life to other people and get (frankly) little in return.
I’m not sure what anyone would say at my funeral. “Yeah, he lived and he died, but did he really DO anything? Did he really leave any legacy or make a difference in anyone’s lives?”
I’m sort of worried that I haven’t left a legacy or made a difference in anyone’s life. I know I spent a lot of time raising a family, but I’m not sure I did it “right” or that they are better off having me as a father rather than someone else.
In short, I don’t know what value my life added to the world, near or far.