45: Cruise Control

Reflecting on the Past and Future, from the eye of the Present.

Midlife Crisis Confidence

Five years ago, when I turned 40, life was heavy. We were in the depth of COVID lockdown. I had newborn James in my arms, my mother was slipping away from cancer, and the world outside our window felt uncertain at best, terrifying at worst. That time demanded survival mode — one foot in front of the other, no space for much more than diapers, back to back Zoom calls, and grief.

This morning, on my 45th birthday, I woke up to sunlight streaming through the window, two squealing kiddos bounding in for hugs, and the gentle sense of peace of having made it through. My phone buzzed all morning with messages of love from every corner of my life. I even worked out.

The contrast couldn’t be more stark: If 40 was the desert, 45 feels like the oasis.

Cycle of Life

Nature teaches us that nothing is constant. Seasons turn. The tide rolls in and recedes. Forests burn, and new growth follows.

Looking back, I see that my hardest years weren’t without meaningful value. They were part of my life cycle. The contraction before expansion. They pushed me to grow in ways that give me resilience today. They were a crash course in learning the true meaning behind the saying: “Life’s not fair.”

At 45, I feel that rhythm in my bones: life isn’t one long straight line of progress. It’s a series of peaks and valleys, each with its own lessons. Some dark and jagged. Some radiant and sweet. Each necessary to provide context for the other.

Freedom from the Ego

One of the gifts of midlife is caring a lot less about the noise — the external validation, the constant comparison, the never-ending “shoulds.”

In my 20s and 30s, I was often fueled by proving myself. I chased the typical markers of success: the next promotion, the next achievement, the next gold star. Some of that striving served me well. But it also kept me tethered to an inner voice that was never fully satisfied.

Lately I’ve been reading The Untethered Soul, which asks us to notice that voice inside — the one constantly narrating, judging, comparing — and realize: You are not that voice. You are the Awareness behind it. The Consciousness that is aware of what the voices are saying, but the Consciousness that is also aware that these voices do not define who we are. We are so much more than the noise in our heads.

That shift has been quietly profound. At 45, I don’t feel the same pressure to be “more.” I can hear the chatter of ego, but I no longer mistake it for truth. I can smile at it, thank it for its persistence, and then get back to living.

My mother used to say, “Speak up, but not too much… dress up, but not too much… be proactive, but not too much.” My mind swirled with how to effectively walk this tightrope. “Be enough, but not too much.”

Today, that phrase sits with me differently — it doesn’t refer to being “enough” or “too much” for others; it’s now about what’s “enough” or “too much” for Me. How I can I offer myself balance where I open myself up to opportunities and challenges enough to continue growing and learning, but not too much that I over extend myself or add unnecessary pressure.

The ability to do anything “enough, but not too much” is actually quite an art. Think about it - exercising, eating, working, everything in life can be done in balance, or in excess, and it’s just you in the driver’s seat choosing what speed you feel comfortable putting on the cruise control. Hard to keep anything up if you’re running at 75 mph.

Living, Not Just Surviving

So here I am. Midway, maybe.

Old enough to carry scars and stories. Young enough to still be in awe, still learning, still hungry.

I have the joy of being a beginner again — in writing, in new ideas, in small daily practices of presence — while also carrying the hard-won expertise of experience.

That combination feels like the real gift of 45: to be both student and teacher, beginner and master.

Five years ago, I was surviving. Today, I am living.

And I can’t wait to see what the next five years hold.