Middle Age is defined by the Encyclopedia Brittanica as a period of human adulthood that immediately precedes the onset of old age…which is generally defined as being between the ages of 40 and 60.
It is also defined by one’s experience of the actual Encylopedia Brittanica in its paper form once upon a time.
I’ve been thinking on this lately, in part because of my spasmy neck that wasn’t so bad until the past 2 years, and in part because I sat on my couch in front of a fire on a sunny Saturday, with a tray table on which to do my work, while wearing fuzzy slippers and this brilliant massage thing I bought off Amazon:

I am aware of how totally uncool I am, and I am okay with it.
I am also drinking a non-alcoholic beer because apparently, I can’t have alcohol or I won’t sleep anymore.
And I have to wake up early to exercise, because if I don’t, I won’t be able to move.
The other reason I’ve been thinking about middle age is because my husband has a motley crew of old and loyal friends, and recently, they’ve been appearing out of the woodwork to visit. Nothing like seeing someone you knew twenty years ago to get you thinking.
You know how when you date someone, you meet their friends and then judge the character of the person you’re dating by the character of the people they surround themselves with? No? Just me?
Well, Judgey McJudgerson here determined that many of my husband’s friends are gems, and some were…a little rough around the edges and maybe a little cringe, though at their core, still good people.
One of the gems was recently in town. He was working as a valet for a fancy steak house in Toronto when I first met him, and then I forgot all about him until years later when my husband and I were gifted a trip to Yellowknife, in the Northwest Territories (it’s not really one of those places you typically plan a vacation around). We went in late winter, when it was only -40 degrees Celsius (which is also, strangely, -40 in Farenheit), because it was a great time to see the northern lights.

At the time, he was working there as a pilot, and was on a show called Ice Pilots NWT. It was probably in its second or third season when we saw him up in Yellowknife, and we got to tour the hangar and some of the WWII planes he worked with, and got into a lot of bars without waiting because he was recognizable. Anyway, if you want to know all about him, the internet is a trove.
We saw him and went for a ski day earlier this week, and he gave us a little update on his life. He flies water bomber planes now (which is a fascinating topic in and of itself) and has the freedom to live anywhere he wants on the continent. So he’s got a place in the big city, and crashpads at friends’ houses all over the rest of the continent.
But where do you want to live?
Ah, he says, that’s the big question. Ideally where someone I love is. And finding that has proven difficult.
Mid forties, a job he is passionate about, decent pay, decent looking, decent guy, doesn’t lie about his height (doesn’t need to), no children he knows about, no crazy exes, and a plight many are facing: the numbers game of dating apps. There are hits and misses, and a lot of people out there who apparently don’t think ghosting is a horrible thing to do. He is searching and putting in earnest effort, and I feel bad I have no candidates to introduce to him.
Today, the husband and I went for breakfast together. It’s a rare time where we can just sit and talk about things, uninterrupted by children every fifteen seconds. Sometimes we just sit in silence. We talked about another gem who came to visit and their conversation last week, and we talked about a conversation my husband had recently with a local friend and entrepreneur who asked him, “What are your targets for this year? How do you set them? Dollar values? Total sales? Client numbers?”
It made me think, and it isn’t any of those things. It’s changed. It’s time with my family, time I have off to ski or take vacations, and the financial flexibility to do so. Time to have breakfast with my wife, because it sets the tone for the whole weekend.
The targets have changed; the things that are important, the objectives. But how does this work then for the pilot? How does his Middle Age play out? Is it the same, only with a different variety of family and friends? What about all the people who chose not to have children, or have found themselves without a partner?
Is it a universal adult coming of age for everyone? Will we all end up coming to the same realizations and life-wisdom mantras after it’s over? (and when is that? 61? 70?)
Or are we all destined to simply keep wondering, wearing silly-looking massagers, reminiscing over hardcover books and blindly, obstinately forging ahead?