The Messy Middle

We talk a lot about risk. When we’re to chicken to do something, we tell ourselves a story on why we can’t because…

“It’s financially irresponsible.” Or, “It’s too risky.”

Using risk as the sole reason for staying put.

But rarely do we talk about the seductive comfort of the middle. Call it middle-age, middle-class, or middle management. I’ve started to watch a large group of people hit the middle of their lives and begin to compulsively choose comfort, in the name of being content, but at the cost of feeling alive.

Contentment sounds like a wise choice, but it may be masking a bigger issue. For example, a go-with-the-flow attitude may be a way to withdraw into indifference. Or, how loyalty to a company can easily mask the fear of going out on your own.

People who were once lively and spirited, with dreams they would have fought for, turn into curmudgeons by the ripe ole’ age of 40. I’ve always wondered how cranky old people, who tip poorly, turn into a hardened versions of themselves.

Now, I’m witnessing the process in real time.

Smack dab in the middle of my 30s, I have a front-row seat to the sliding door moments that make or break how we live the second half of our lives. The closer I’ve gotten to middle age, the more I’ve noticed how easily we can give up fighting for the lives we desired in our 20s.

And not out of wisdom, but out of fear.

I don’t think it's the risk that scares us as much as the lack of control. Leaving the predictable comforts we’ve grown accustomed to becomes less and less appealing. I get it. Life is hard. And we can lose the steam it takes to continue swimming upstream. When discouraged or burnt out, I also sense the appeal of floating downstream.

In reality, it’s not upstream or downstream, it’s tiny forks in the road. Thousands of them. Each one is an opportunity to choose ourselves or settle for comfort.

Just a few months back this hit me harder than ever before. My husband and I have always had an entrepreneurial drive, but he recently got the opportunity to switch to consulting. A gig that I so badly wanted him to say yes to. For once, a stable income, no personal financial investment, and no emotional stake in the game. After the hard year we’d had, comfort was exactly what I yearned for most. So I encouraged him to take the safer, more predictable path.

But as I watched him head in that direction with little enthusiasm — it became harder for me to stand by and say nothing.

I knew in my gut, that for him, the well-beaten path would be a slow, soul-numbing decline into comfort.

Comfort can look like living the good life, but often times it’s simply checking out of it. It’s here where we trade our passions for pieces of predictability.

I don’t know about you, but what I want is to be more whole — engaging fully in every aspect of life — truly living even at the cost of comfort.