Midlife Niceness

Now that I'm in my 40s, which some might consider the midway point in life's uncut script, I've been thinking a lot about how to consciously evolve. Being very aware of the mental and physical changes that are happening. Not being in total denial of it, not fighting it, not controlling it, but also not being lazy about it. Embracing the parts of me that are wiser, more decisive, and mentally healthier than I used to be. At the same time, being proactive and doing all the things that make the inevitable decline feel more like a very gradual rappel and less like a slip and slide off a cliff.

It's kind of like a long road trip. Being on the road for a while, and knowing there's still a ways to go, I know to stop for good quality fuel, get serviced regularly, and put a roadside kit and an extra spare in my trunk (ie: work out regularly, eat really clean, routine check-ups and preventive scans). Even with all the extra precautions, I can still find myself kicking the tires on the side of the road. It's so frustrating when this happens, especially when you take all the extra steps to avoid exactly this: a flat tire or smoke coming out of your hood. In my mom's case, a small deer came out of nowhere and made her swerve, throwing her completely off course. She was on yard duty recently when a little guy accidentally took her out—running full speed. Her feet came up from under her, and she got knocked to the ground so hard that all the rehab for her hip has been completely set back.

Working with bodies every day, bodies of all ages, I hear it all when clients first enter the studio. All the unforeseen roadside issues that came up since I last saw them. Both the unpredictable outside forces and internal engine problems. I am able to help give relief to a misaligned or stuck system. However, the emotional frustration can be hard to shake.

You could shake your fist in the air and get mad that your vehicle disappointed you... or throw your hands in the air because that's just part of the natural wear and tear that comes with being on the road for so long. I think it's okay to do a little bit of both. I also know, for both an actual road vehicle and your human body vehicle, it will have way more longevity if we give it the appreciation it deserves. What I'm calling a midlife "niceness" instead of a midlife "crisis."

My husband's way of embracing/grappling with life's ticking clock is that he went on a literal long haul. This past weekend, he went on a hundred-mile bike ride; a century ride. Almost to prove not only does the vehicle still have mileage, but he's taking it to the autobahn and opening it up. I couldn't help but notice the parallel of the bike ride prep to life's proverbial long road prep, especially our dynamic as he was heading into it. He obsessed over the gear, the straps, the tiny fasteners—all the details that will keep everything secure and help if things break. Meanwhile, I'm in the background reminding him about hydration, food, all the essentials that will keep him fueled and going. That bike and all of its accessories might have perfect measurements and be in perfect condition, but that means nothing if the body riding it tips over due to exhaustion. Not much different from our daily dynamic. He is the security system, the brakes when something is wrong, the flashing light, the detail-oriented, fine print flagger. Whereas I'm the fuel, the gas pedal, I'm looking up at the horizon line reminding him the light is green, so GO!

The century ride was a success, and it was a perfect way to slow down that feeling of a ticking clock. It offered a necessary pause in life's congested pace—nine hours where he could fully breathe, pump his engine, push his lungs, and be deep in his thoughts. Dr. James Hollis says this is so crucial as we get older. To feel fulfilled and maintain clarity with a forward movement, you need to meditate and reflect.

Dr. Hollis is a Jungian psychoanalyst, author, and public speaker. I've referenced him on here before; he makes hard discussions feel really simple and is so much fun to listen to. He said the first half of life is a "huge and unavoidable mistake," that we live reactively, responding to whatever is going on around us. It's what needs to happen so that we're taking stupid risks and living. In the second half, we live reflectively. There is enough life experience to reflect upon. Only with this reflectiveness can you live intentionally. To get to this intentional place where you have more agency and clarity, you HAVE to experience honest and humbling reflections. This can be hard for those who aren't ready to see themselves for who they truly are, especially if they are stuck in deep insecurity or ego. Another part of this that Hollis mentions, which really hits home for me as a parent and teacher, is how these reflective journeys, deep self-archaeology digs, do not go unnoticed. By being accountable and working towards betterment, we are modeling, "it not only models, it gives permission to them." I saw this with my daughter.

Before my husband left for his big ride, my daughter gave him two tiny stuffies to be like his traveling gnomes that join him on the ride. So he can take pictures of them at every stopping point. It was a way of tracking his journey and staying connected, but it was also a way for her to see what's possible. It's not denying her a dad for three days; it's giving her permission to do the same someday. Whether it's permission to do something hard and push your limits or permission to pause and know your limits. Make time for self care.

No matter where you are in your journey, or what shape your vehicle is in, this week we are going to show our appreciation for where we are. Practice "niceness" instead of "crisis." Of course I will be there to refuel you, refill your tires, and tune you up. Offer you a space that will give pause to your everyday bustle. However you're the one driving. For those fifty minutes in the studio, you get to focus on yourself, you're breathing, and match your intentions with your movement. If you have a shaky, humbling moment, consider that a valuable part of your journey —a moment of honest accountability and betterment. So that by the time you're done, your accomplishment gives everyone around you permission to do the same. It also gives the "future you" permission to keep pushing onward and stay motivated.

The greatest burden the child must bear is the unlived life of the parent.

~ Carl Jung

Excited to make your bodies sweat, smile, and turn feelings of crisis into niceness.

XO,

Celeste