Mid-Life Crisis?

Happy birthday. Your life is half over. What now?

On November 2, I woke up to find I had turned 45. I'm not quite sure how that happened; I swear yesterday I was still in my thirties. But I did the math, and I am in fact 45. By quickly reviewing my family history, I confirmed my fears. My father, grandmother, and two great-grandparents only lived to their mid-sixties, two great-grandparents hit their late seventies, my other grandma and both grandpas died in their mid-eighties, two Great-Grandparents got to 88, another to 89, and one made it all the way to 90. Based on those statistics, it's a safe, and sobering, assumption that my sojourn here on earth is half over, and that's being optimistic. So as one often does at this stage of life, I felt the day called for a little self-reflection. What have I done with my first 45 years and what do I plan to do with the next?

At first, I felt less than impressed with my accomplishments. I've worked for my university in a position where I feel increasingly overworked and underappreciated for two decades. While there are things I still love about the job, I always dreamed of being a writer and recent events have me questioning what I have to show for all my years of devoted service. I have chronicled my love of writing in these three pieces:

Despite my resolve at the beginning of 2025 to finish and publish more of my stories, I have yet to get anywhere close to my goal of finishing 50 stories this year. Imagining the abandonment my stories must feel, I wrote this very fun piece regarding being haunted by them:

Whilst bemoaning my failure to achieve my lifelong goal of being a published author, I got a notification on my phone from Vocal, “You have a new comment on your story!” Grateful for a distraction and an excuse to put off getting out of bed a bit longer, I opened Vocal and found I did not have one comment on a story, I had many on several different pieces. Something had prompted a Vocal friend to go on a deep dive of my old stories. He had read, and commented very positively, on about a dozen. It ended up being the perfect start to my birthday, a very welcome stroking of my ego with the added benefit of sending me on a journey back through my time on the platform as a creator.

As I lay there, feeling every ache I've earned over the past 45 years, scrolling through my past stories, my mood lifted. First from the reminder that while I've never won a challenge, I have had five Runner-up placements and two Honorable Mentions as well as ten Top Stories. Each one whispers to me, "this isn't just a pipe dream." I have talent and it's being recognized by other very talented writers.

But the best part of scrolling back through my work, the part that lifted my mood the most, came when I found my life embedded in my stories. Over the past three years I have published 90 pieces on Vocal and each one has a bit of my soul woven in the words. I've created poems filled with my inner musings: comical, wistful, tortured, and hopeful. Fictional stories teem with characters inspired by the many people I interact with daily at work, in my family, at church, and in my memories and those characters face scenarios that blossom from my dreams, nightmares, life experiences, hopes, and fears. The collection is rounded out by tributes to those I’ve lost, memoirs of those who have helped shape me, and lessons learned over the past 45 years.

In short, Vocal holds a map of who I was, who I am, and who I hope to be. It is incomplete, but it is a beautiful start of something my children will cherish one day. Even if I am never a “successful” writer, I have successfully immortalized myself with each word I have published. As I read my own words, I went on a nostalgic tour of my previous 45 years and found a lot about myself.

Life started simply. I am the younger of two sisters, no brothers. We lived on a little dead-end street with eight of our best friends. I had a typical eighties childhood as a free range kid running around the neighborhood, exploring for hours on bike rides without helmets or supervision, playing hide-n-go-seek in the dark, and other adventures deemed unsafe in today's world. It was glorious. I've touched on the simple joy of my childhood in these poems:

Overall, I remember my childhood with great joy. But even looking back through the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia, I cannot deny that a darkness hangs over my past. My writing has helped me process my childhood demons without the shame that kept me quiet for decades. One of my earliest pieces on Vocal hinted at my trauma, though I chose to wrap it up in metaphor and fiction:

About a year later, I wrote another fictionalized piece that was based heavily on a recurring nightmare I had throughout my childhood and still haunts me from time to time as an adult. In my late twenties, I woke from the nightmare with a realization of what my subconscious had been trying to tell me about the monster living across the street and my friend's futile, but honorable, attempt to protect the rest of us through self sacrifice.

Most recently, I wrote a poem where I spoke of the monster with more honesty than I have yet felt brave enough to share. Ultimately, I received an Honorable Mention for it, but the real win was being able to put into words the emotional turmoil I have repressed for decades and my sorrow at losing a dear friend due to another's actions.

But through everything, I had an incredible foundation to fall back on. My family wasn't perfect, we all have our flaws that are sometimes funny, other times sad, and all too often infuriating. But I've always known they were there for me and I would do anything for them. I cannot imagine my life without my sister who also holds the title of mentor, best friend, confidant, and cheerleader. You can learn more about my relationship with my sister in these two stories:

A few months before I began publishing on Vocal, we lost our father to a nasty fight between COVID and his already failing kidney. My primary avenue for addressing my grief has been through my writing. I have written many stories featuring my relationship with the incredible man I was blessed to call my father. My greatest regret in life will always be that my father didn't live long enough to see me achieve my ultimate dreams. He always believed in me and nothing felt better than to make him proud. But enshrining his memory in my writing feels like the best tribute I could ever pay to my greatest hero. You can get to know my father in these five stories:

My childhood was also filled with incredible role models in four amazing Grandparents. The older I get the more I cherish the moments I had with them and the lessons I learned from them. Both of my grandfathers served America in armed combat and had vastly different experiences. One served in Korea, spoke often of his time at war, and spent his retirement years honoring other Veteran's at their funerals by performing the Three-Volley Salute. I have great plans to add to my collection stories of his time in Korea. My other Grandfather I honored in a story that placed Runner-Up and was a Top Story. It is one of my all time favorite pieces I have ever written and having it received so well on Vocal remains one of my most proud accomplishments:

My Grandmothers could not have been greater opposites of each other. As a child, my squishy Grandma Gaisford left little doubt that I was the most precious and incredible child ever born. Sure, she loved the other grandchildren, but I was clearly her most favorite. As I got older I listened to her talk about each of my younger cousins and realized that whichever grandbaby she was talking about at that time truly was her most favorite. She saw in each of us our own unique strengths and each of us knew without a doubt we were the most special of all. I can no longer climb into her soft lap, but the comfort of being loved so much as a child has stayed with me throughout my life.

My other grandmother never believed in indulging a child. She rarely had time to sit and cuddle so I didn't appreciate her nearly as much until I was older. As I began making my own home and raising my children, I found so much of my skills in the kitchen, home, garden, and faith all stemmed from my Grandma Adams who spent every moment serving God, her family, and trying to help us be ready to face the world. I have written two fiction stories, one inspired by the many memories forged in her home and another loosely based on actual events of her life and her love of clouds:

But the ultimate tribute to my grandmother also was honored as a Runner-Up. I honestly cried tears of gratitude when the story placed. My grandma never looked for accolades in this life and never held great status, but there are none who walked this earth who deserve more respect. It was her win more than mine.

Eventually, my world expanded beyond my little dead-end street and loving family. Elementary School became dreaded Junior High. Then came high school in the late nineties. There I met a boy with long blonde hair, a real goatee (in the 9th grade!) and I managed to convince him with one single sentence that I was a…well...let's just say he didn't think I was very nice. But no worries, after a year he finally started to warm up to me and decided I was not so terrible. Another year was all it took for us to become friends. And finally, I wore down his defenses enough for him to accept an invitation to a hockey game. Afterward, I kissed him and he was hopelessly in love…well, that's at least my side of the story. Today his long blonde hair is just a memory and his scraggly goatee has grown into a very full, beautifully white, Santa Claus style beard. And I couldn't be luckier than to call him my partner in life. You can read more about him in this story and these two poems:

Together my hubby and I have successfully raised one incredible son, all the way to adulthood. He's been out of the house for three years and we're preparing for his upcoming wedding in April to the most incredible woman. Now we're nearing the homeward stretch with our second oldest child. He's teetering just on the edge of freedom with only a few more classes to complete high school and plans to begin attending the local university next fall. Our youngest is just about to hit his teen years. Everyday he seems to grow another three inches and any moment now he'll be taller than I am. Being the mother of these three has made my life full and exciting if also a bit chaotic and exhausting. You can read more about my motherhood journey here:

I also have used my writing on Vocal to process the grief over the child I lost and never knew. I used my experience with miscarriage as inspiration for part of this fictional story:

And wrote a tribute to my lost baby in this piece:

The morning of my birthday, I combed through many of these pieces. Some I read fully, others I just remembered with a smile as I scrolled past their titles. As I started writing my thoughts on these stories and poems I noticed a few things. First, I am rich in relationships with others. From childhood friends and family to supportive Vocalites and an amazing husband, I could not ask to be associated with better people. Second, I have some glaring holes in my anthology. I have yet to introduce you to my bestie, Anne, or my Belgian sister, Saskia. My mother is woefully underrepresented. And then there are the crazy humans that make up the family I married into. Oh, there is so much great material just waiting to be written about them! I have purposely avoided anything work related, but one day, after I retire, I will have a plethora of inspiration for some of the craziest stories imaginable. (Seriously, you would not believe the things college kids do in dining halls.)

The biggest hole, however, is my relationship with God. My faith is one of the most important things about me and I have avoided writing much on the topic because it is precious to me. But I have been working for some time on a series of pieces regarding my faith. I believe God wants me to use the talent He blessed me with to help others feel His love for them. As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, recent events have left me feeling the urgency to help others understand our beliefs more than ever. I have talked a bit about my love of God in these two pieces:

By the end of my birthday, I felt very much that 45 was a great number. I have had a full and beautiful life. I have struggled, I have grown, I have failed, and I have won. I have so much more to still do with the next 45 years and so many more stories to write. Each one will have a piece of my soul. Each one will share a little more of who I am, who I was, and who I will one day be.

And if I ever lose my way, I can always find my path again within the pages of Vocal.