One difficult thing that accompanies a life crisis, especially one that revolves around invectives aimed with blazing accuracy, is the viscous (sic) guilt.
We blame ourselves in our darkest moments, blame that is probably not wholly justified. But there are certain traits that we might be better off without. So is this defining moment a blessing in disguise?
Do I use this opportunity to create a new me?
Well – yeah. The original didn’t work out as planned. Who is “the slightly older woman?” Born before Sex and the Single Girl, witness to the passage of the ERA, beneficiary of readily available contraceptives, breadwinner and homemaker, mother of Title IX daughters. A man recently described us as ramping up – in control, clear on what we want and capable of getting it. No fears, no anxiety. Really? I don’t know what I want – let alone how to get it. Another recent date admitted to refining his online search to women over fifty (his own age mind you) because they are sexually accessible (this is not the term he used). This stereotype does not make me happy. But guess what, its accurate. An unscientific poll of six divorced females yielded a 100% interest in just getting laid – no strings attached. Would anyone in the generations around us dare say that? And is it true? Does it matter?
So – I am examining what I want to do with my third 25 years, and taking this opportunity to rethink goals, improve grooming, and purge thirty years of accumulated baggage. And to invest in a new and better functioning model. Maybe 5.0 will be a successful upgrade.
If these efforts are executed with cold precision and absolute objectivity, I can: hone a sense of crystalline clarity where a rubbish-bin of wants, needs, desires once festered; perfect forgiveness for ones self and for the evil ex (despite the vitriol of friends and family); and process the burgeoning, exploding self awareness that leaves the survivor perfectly contented. Then maybe I can figure out what I want.