My Mid-Life Crisis - 12/17/08

Recently I borrowed the book “Twilight” from my friend's 11-year old daughter. For those of you not familiar with the book, it's the story of an ordinary teenage girl who falls madly in love with a teenage boy (who happens to be a vampire.) The wildly popular novel spawned three sequels and a cult following to rival even that of Harry Potter. After sinking my teeth into the first book, I immediately borrowed the second. Once that was devoured, I ran out and purchased the third and fourth books in the series. And the movie? I've seen it three times, so far.

My husband thinks I'm strange, my friends think I'm obsessed and when I sit down to think about why this whole phenomenon holds me in such a strong grip, the answer comes to me in the clarity of just three little words: mid-life crisis.

When I think of the term mid-life crisis, this is what comes to mind: Middle-aged man in a convertible (Porsche, Mustang, Corvette, take your pick) and a much-younger girlfriend/trophy wife in the passenger seat. I've never pictured myself sitting in a dark movie theater, watching the tortured Edward and the besotted Bella try to negotiate a seemingly impossible relationship. Go figure.

How else to explain my fascination with the punk-pop band My Chemical Romance. After the release of their CD "The Black Parade" two years ago, I played their music constantly (much to my children's horror), visited their website daily and dragged my poor husband to their concert when they played in Worcester. Yes, there were other people "my age" at the concert. But most of them were chaperoning their teenage children!

I have a Facebook page I visit daily (okay, hourly), and I've learned to text my friends using terms like "OMG", "TTYL" and a few I won't print because you could easily decipher them and hey, this is a family newspaper.

When you add up all these little nuggets, they may not equal a Porsche convertible but they scream "mid-life crisis" just the same.

I never gave much thought to a mid-life crisis when I actually turned 40. That day was spent crying and feeling sorry for myself until my husband came home with two dozen roses, a spa gift certificate and tickets to the musical "Mamma Mia". After that, 40 didn't seem like such a big deal.

It's only in the last couple of years that these thoughts have crept into my head: What will I do for the "second half" of my life (assuming I live to 90, something I'm not sure I want to do...) what have I accomplished? Have I made the right choices? How will I leave my mark on this world?

I need only look to my family, my friends, my children and the rebirth of my writing to answer most of these questions. I doubt I'll take up bungee jumping or go on safari or ditch my husband and kids for some 25-year old boy toy.

However, the next showing of "Twilight" begins at 12:10... See you there!