I’ve always viewed myself as someone with ambition—balancing jobs, freelance gigs, and late-night fiction writing to chase my dreams. Seven years ago, I embraced motherhood as well. I’ve authored a few books with smaller presses and penned countless articles. I’ve even been invited to speak at conferences. Not too shabby for someone who just turned 40, but my aspirations of becoming a well-known novelist or magazine writer still feel unfulfilled.
When I hit the big four-oh last year, a wave of realization washed over me. I was officially too old for accolades like “Top Writers Under 40” or “Five Under 35.” To make matters worse, I recently connected with a group of impressive twenty-something professionals. These talented young women seemed to have their careers mapped out from the get-go. They’ve been published in prestigious outlets I’ve admired since childhood—The New Yorker, The Paris Review. They hold high-ranking positions at major media firms and have contributed to beloved TV shows. Many of them boast multiple degrees and even personal assistants. They are truly taking the world by storm.
In that moment, I couldn’t help but feel that my choices not to attend journalism grad school or to move to New York in my 20s were colossal missteps. I found myself waking up in panic, asking, “What’s next?” Despite my ongoing hard work as a writer, I felt as if I had missed a vital career milestone.
Am I Experiencing a Midlife Crisis?
While some women my age might fantasize about a youthful romance, I find myself dreaming of a cozy little apartment in New York’s East Village—just me and a peaceful quiet. I imagine padding around in comfy socks on my hardwood floors, pacing to inspire my next novel or longform article. Friends would drop by with affordable bottles of wine, and we’d indulge in garlic-stuffed olives and gourmet hummus while discussing poetry and social issues.
Of course, this dream is filled with holes—who could actually afford such an apartment? Plus, after over a decade of freelancing, I know that even the most ideal job comes with its share of stress.
But perhaps I didn’t squander my 20s after all. I devoured books, wrote countless imperfect words in cheap notebooks, and took every class I could afford in the living rooms and makeshift studios of aspiring writers. I volunteered to produce a literary radio show and organized a literary salon where local authors could share their work. I led a creative life, even if it hasn’t brought me riches or fame.
In reality, most people I know, particularly those in their 40s, haven’t followed a straightforward path to career satisfaction. Growing up in Northern California, a place known for “finding oneself,” I’ve always been guided more by joy than obligation. While this choice hasn’t catapulted me into media stardom, it has given my life meaning.
Moreover, had I pursued a different route, I wouldn’t have my wonderful 7-year-old son, who brings fresh perspectives to life—pointing out budding flowers on hiking trails and reminding me that “we are all made of the universe.” I also wouldn’t have the unwavering support of my husband, who has encouraged my writing journey, even when it meant little financial return or frequent trips to Vermont for an MFA program.
Had I chosen differently in my 20s, I might find myself like many others, struggling to navigate the high costs of city living while yearning for a quieter, more fulfilling existence—one that resembles the life I currently lead. In my modest home in a picturesque town, I enjoy a small measure of success without sacrificing my well-being.
For more insights on navigating this journey, check out our other blog post.
In summary, reflecting on my 20s reveals that I lived a rich, albeit unconventional, creative life that has led me to meaningful experiences, relationships, and a sense of fulfillment.