At the Midterm

The other day someone said the phrase I keep hearing repeated more and more—“you’re middle-aged.”

At 34, I suppose a case could be argued. The grey hairs glint in the light. Extra weight clings tenaciously to my tummy. I see lines and wrinkles where the skin was once soft and smooth. My body shows the effects of aging—a process millions of people throughout thousands of years have tried to tame. In the end, we always come to our end: wrinkled and worn.

In academia, at the halfway point, we give grades, midterms, sometimes evaluations to see how the students are progressing. I am having my students answer questions about if they feel their writing has improved, what changes would they like to make, what do they feel they have learned that they didn’t know before.

And, this made me start to think about being middle-aged.

What have I learned so far? What changes would I make? How have I improved?

Strangely, I don’t know that I have improved. Changed, definitely. I wonder if our progression through life can be quantified in terms of reaching some “better” level. Maybe we just get older. We accumulate more experiences, knowledge, etc, but am I “better” than I was when I was younger?

As I get older, I am becoming much more fascinated by Time. Probably because half of my life has been lived. Or, should I say that I have lived half of the average lifespan of a human being? I don’t know what my lifespan will be. Maybe only a day more, maybe 70 years more.

One of my professors told us once that he believed in the existence of souls because there always seems to be a fundamental part of us that does not change. He said that in his being was an essential core that did not feel much different than he did at seventeen. He was probably in his 50s. I remember sitting in my desk mulling over this notion. I already believed in a soul, but I considered his argument.

I suppose that I am still me. I don’t know if I am Sarah per se. Sarah is a name that my parents selected. I could just as easily be Mary, or Jane, or…Jack? I recognize a certain element of myself that seems unchanging, perhaps spurned on by memory and consciousness. But, is the soul really so steadfast?

Time, aging seem to make you even more aware of the various layers involved with being human—memories from twenty years ago that feel like just yesterday, aches seem more nagging on long walks—the body weakens, the mind remembers, our “souls” retain ourselves? Perhaps.

Just last night, it occurred to me that it had been fifteen years since my brother died. I was nineteen at the time. Something about that profound passage of Time struck me. I have lived almost as much life as I had on St. Patrick’s Day 1994. I admit, these last fifteen years have gone much more quickly than those first nineteen. As you age, Time seems to be on a mad dash towards that final finish line.

So, the question remains: what have I learned at the Midterm? I have learned that I am less certain about some things in my life than I was. I am also much less flexible. I will have a confrontation with someone if I feel that I am not being heard or respected. I have learned that these might not necessarily be changes for the “better.”

I always say that “life is the journey, not the destination.” Aging has taught me, though, that while I still enjoy a good amble, the time is coming to walk with a bit more purpose.