(Midlife) Crisis Averted . . . For now


My friend Janine gave me a Bondi Band; a six-inch strip of sweat-wicking lycra with three stitches to create a headband.  I slid it on, admiring the neon pink and black polk-a-dots.  I fell in love almost instantly.  The Bondi controlled the hairs that usually tickle my brow, it absorbed the salty drip that usually stings my eyes, it held firm (but gentle) in place preventing the headache that usually throbs with the application of any head-piece . . . it matched my shirt.

I loved the Bondi but hated the $8 price tag.  So I asked my mother in-law if she could make me some (I can’t even sew a button).  Instead, she bought me five more.  Those five came with a coupon: five for twenty-five.  It would have been criminal to let it go to waste, so I ordered five more . . . which came with another coupon.  I now own twelve strips of lycra, with five more on the way.

In a small way the Bondi changed my life.  I no longer get dressed in the morning, I accessorize, making sure my outfit matches the band of the day.  I used to throw my hair into a loose bun in the morning, now I carefully place the bun so as not to detract from the Bondi effect.  I check the website almost daily to see what fabrics joined  the collection; I stand convinced that I must add Hippie Pirate to my collection of Whirly Pink and Rainbow Party (not to mention Hawaiian Sunset and Princess).

Last Wednesday I got a new running jacket from my dad.  It matched Lime Green Peace perfectly. I woke up early on Thursday, slid into the jacket,  pulled the Bondi into place, admired that even my nail polish matched, and looked in the mirror.  That’s when it occurred to me:  I might be having a midlife crisis.  In fact, I am almost positive that most midlife crisis begin with lycra and shades of neon.

A friend tried to reassure me that without a sports car and silicone, I was still okay.  But I am not convinced.  I am keenly aware that most days I hang by a thread.  Last week I cried for an hour when my husband left the pot roast on the counter and the dog ate it.  I cried even longer today when he left a weeks worth of meals on the counter and the dog ate those too. On Saturday I came through the front door after work only to have the dog knock the cell phone out of my hand in his excitement; when I bent down to pick it up he head butted me and left a huge lump above my right eye.  I sat in the middle of the floor and fell apart. I overreacted when my son ordered hot lunch instead of eating the sandwich I made him,  completely lost it when my daughter shoved all her laundry into one drawer instead of hanging it up properly, and sulked for hours when someone at work drank part of my latte.

I like to feel like I have it all together.  I like it even more when other people think I have it all together.  Really, I’m a hot mess.  Most days I fight fatigue and stress, fall further behind on laundry and life, struggle to get through the day without regrets and without tears.  I hate that the little things get the best of me, but that’s what happens when I try to hold everything in place all the time.  Because it is the little things that go wrong, they are what I cannot control.

In Colossians, Paul writes a beautiful description of Jesus as the image of God, redeemer of our soul, and ruler of creation.   He also writes that “in Him all things hold together.”  I have been trying lately to wrap my mind around that.  If in Him all things are held together and I am in Him, then I don’t have to hold it all together.   I like the sound of that.  I want to experience that kind of life . . . a life of faith that believes that Christ will hold it all together even when I am falling apart. I want to live above the little things by living in Him.

It means I have to let go; to try less and trust more.  It is a little scary for me, but I know that it is what God is asking me to do now . . . before I buy more Bondis.

One of these people might be having a midlife crisis. Can you guess which one?

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