Crisis

A midlife crisis in men is usually associated with pony tails and sports cars.

I grew a long and bushy beard.

Not that anyone who knows me should be surprised to find me in such a transition.

My life is beset by crises. My soul seems in constant riot. I don’t idle well. And I am vigilant about how comfort can falsely present itself as satisfaction.

Was my getting sober a quarterlife crisis?

Those are usually affiliated with twenty-somethings who have never taken the time to get to know themselves. Maybe that is a good description of me 15 years ago.

The results of that crisis included a new outlook on life.

The source of the crisis was my complete and utter demise. I was miserable. Using alcohol and drugs no longer worked as a coping mechanism. And I had no other alternative.

I came out of that conflict a sober man. I learned that I was not as in control of things as I had previously thought. As it turns out, loosening my grip, not tightening it, is the best way to feel secure in this world.

There are so many oppressive forces beyond my control that dictate life’s terms. Constraints are growing in strength and number each year as technology advances. But even those forces yield to the natural laws, the celestial physics of the soul. I’ve seen glimpses of what awaits us at the end. We are all barreling – bickering and boasting on the way – towards a loving embrace, it’s only a question of if we’ll be wise enough to open our arms and receive it when the time comes.

If you try to listen to the soul, you will undoubtedly experience periodic overhauls in your worldview. That’s natural. In fact, I would be skeptical of anyone who never took the time to question their core beliefs or re-shuffle their priorities.

If the night is truly darkest before the dawn, then what’s so bad about a crisis? Wouldn’t it be better to get on with your demise and experience rejuvenation rather than wallow away wishing things were different?

My current crisis doesn’t involve a shift as seismic as getting sober, but I am noticing some profound changes. Here’s the biggest one to date.

As a parent, I have clamored about getting more time to myself.

Parenting has this way of reducing people, limiting them, tying them to the demands of their children or their spouse.

I imagine it’s when people first break free from those limits that the symptoms of a mid-life crisis surface. But my life (and this blog) have taken a different approach to the domestic scene. Similar to how loosening my grip has given me security, leaning into my family responsibilities has set me free.

I love taking care of my kids. I am blessed to have children whose company I genuinely enjoy. My wife and I have always made it a point to not talk down to them. And I think some of that work has paid off now that they are old enough to assert their independence. I admire the people they are becoming. I look forward to those long days at the gymnastics studio or the soccer field. Not that I hover over them or lay claim to their success. I am that parent who brings a book or types in his car. What I enjoy is being an agent of transformation in their life. I love watching them go through the process of growing up.

One of the reasons I am clearing away responsibilities that clutter my schedule – and growing a beard, of course – is not because I want more time to myself. What I want now is more time to be with them. I want time to linger alongside them in those in between moments. I want to be present for the pre- and post-game activities. I want a part of their life.

I used to revel in each staycation opportunity. Time alone and apart seemed like this carrot in the race of life – if I just work hard enough now, I will have the time I need for myself later.

I don’t see it that way anymore. I’m done drawing battle lines for my time and attention.

Rather than wishing for more time to get things done, I want more time to do less. Never before have I so looked forward to the end of the work day: getting the kids from school, taking care of things at the house, cooking dinner, walking the dogs. These are truly enjoyable moments in ways I never imagined they could be.

As I am turning 40 this summer, it is not hard to imagine what the 30-year-old me would think of this post. The younger me would think I am a total loser. He would think that I’ve been domesticated, and that I abandoned my dreams of being some great American author. But what I would tell the younger me is that, in fact, fatherhood is wild. Children are unpredictable. Raising them is an absolute adventure.

If I could do it all over again, I would gladly sacrifice my ambitions of being labelled some literary genius. I would do anything to re-take what I have now: the love of family, a deep sense of gratitude, a challenging and creative profession.

Is this the crisis to end all crises?

A part of me has feared this would be the case. If I cease struggling to be more, I will be left with nothing. That is a taproot fear. And it is totally irrational. But it was that sort of fear that led me to abuse alcohol in the first place.

I hear in recovery circles that fear is nothing but false evidence appearing real. The acronym certainly holds true in this case. My Creator has made it clear that I am enough—and that I am never alone. My Creator has given me hardship so that I might distinguish comfort from satisfaction. My Creator has showed me what it means to live life to the fullest.

It means that you find fulfillment in what you do.