The other day the girls and I drove to the east side of town to have lunch. The Chick-fil-A closest to us is closed for renovations in the month of July. This gave us a good excuse for a change of scenery.
As I drove I realized I was driving the same route I did almost 20 years ago when I was in graduate school at the University of Georgia. I would leave Alderhold, sometimes go to the Ramsey Center to work out, then drive home. I remembered this route so well that I could have easily been 23 years old again.
“Do you want to see where mommy lived when I was in school?” I asked the girls. “Yes, yes, yes!” they cheered back.
I turned right onto Dennis Drive and then an immediate left into the parking lot. Looking down I saw two parking places with “E’s” painted on the asphalt – one for me and one for my roommate. In front sat townhouse “E”. I stopped the car and stared intently at the front door for a few seconds. I imagined opening it and finding my 23-year-old self inside. As I walked in I hugged her tight, then I sat her down and said, “Let me tell you what the next twenty years will teach you.”
Red convertible sports cars, younger spouses, and plastic surgery used to be how I thought of mid-life crises. However, none of that is true for me. Sure, I got reader glasses the other day and posted a picture on Instagram with the caption, “Well, the mid-life crisis has hit a new level. My first reader glasses.” But overall it’s not about vanity. It’s not that I wish I could be young again.
In all honesty, who wants to be 23 again? I think about my immaturity, lack of perspective, and self-centeredness at that age, and even though it was all developmentally appropriate, it doesn’t compare to the wisdom I have now. Sure, the perfect scenario would be to have the physical youth of 23 and the mind of 43, but for whatever reason God saw it more fit for it to be a trade-off. I imagine that has something to do with trusting Him like most everything else.
My mid-life crisis came with the realization that I only have half of a life left to do what I’m here to do. Then to complicate that further, I’m still making up for the mistakes I made during the first half.
So I started going to counseling – again. Yes, again, because just like I’ve been to medical doctors throughout my life for the flu and prenatal care and well-visits, I figure my mind isn’t any different than any other part of my body and deserves the same type of care. We can call it my mid-life tune-up.
The other day talking to her, she told me something that helped with this mid-life crisis. Maybe it will help you, too. She said to think of my life as God’s story. What’s been – sin, regret, pain, mistakes – is the training for what’s to come in the second half. Kinda like how you train a child. Or even how God trained Adam and Eve. The boot camp has to take place in order for the race to be won. And it ain’t over till it’s over.
The funny thing is I’ll look back at 63 and remember all I thought I knew at 43. Regret will hover just as it does now. The training never ends. For some, it’s more intense than for others, but nonetheless, it’s there.
So here’s to the training and mid-life crises that make us aware of it. I’m learning to embrace it. And here’s to the race that’s still being run all for something more glorious than I can imagine.
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