So, This Is Middle Age: Love, Marriage & Four Pairs of Readers
Welcome to Life, Created—a new [old school] blog for modern times. This twice-a-week(ish) dispatch is a space for us to dig deeper, recognize microjoys and build community beyond the mindless scroll.
Welcome to the Reading Glasses Era, friends—where the glasses are chic, the squinting is real, and middle age feels less like a crisis and more like a comedy of unspoken habits. I’m 47, or as I like to call it, “young middle-age” (because saying that out loud makes me feel spry and mildly rebellious). This is the first in a series I’m calling “So, This Is Middle Age,” because these years deserve a little party—and maybe a little side-eye, too. Onward, shall we?
Let’s start with the crown jewel of this phase: the readers. I now own four spectacular pairs, each one serving its own distinct vibe. There’s the matte orange round frames that scream “quirky intellectual” (or at least someone trying her best), the oversized hot-pink Iris Apfel numbers for maximum impact, a clear/neutral pair that’s practically art, and the dearly departed tortoise shell frames, which went on an Amtrak journey (with me) to a faraway land and tragically never returned.
Meanwhile, Ira—my minimalist husband—owns one pair of practical, black-rimmed glasses. He insists that’s all he needs, and I’m letting him live that minimalist dream. At least for now. But here’s the kicker: our glasses have become the household’s most adventurous nomads. They roam between rooms, swapping faces like they’re auditioning for new owners.
Picture this: I’ll set down my hot-pink readers on the couch, only to look up moments later and see Ira wearing them like he’s starring in his own fashion editorial. His black frames, meanwhile, somehow make their way to my favorite reading nook. No words are exchanged, no claims are staked—just silent, mutual opportunism. The closest pair wins. End of story.
Weekend mornings have now evolved into the Great Glasses Scavenger Hunt. We sit down with our old-school, print-version New York Times (because yes, we’re still clinging to the joy of paper), and the silent battle begins. Who will grab the orange frames today? Are the pink ones still in the bedroom? And where, for the love of eyeglass magic, are the neutrals? By the end of breakfast, Ira’s reading while wearing my oversized matte orange glasses, and I’m sipping coffee, hair matted and boobs braless, my dignity taking a backseat to comfort and practicality—those oversized pink frames perched firmly on my nose.
But here’s the thing: it’s not just about the glasses. This is mid-life in action—the delightful, low-stakes absurdities that make these years uniquely ours. (And listen, I say this with deep humility knowing that the stakes of aging won’t always be low— which is the exact reason to laugh about it while we can.) This mid-life moment is the perfectly worn corner of the couch that hugs you like an old friend. It’s the nine-step skincare routine you dare anyone to interrupt because Retinol (tretinoin) waits for no one. It’s that bag full of supplements that you think are working, but let’s be honest, you’re not entirely sure. (And did I take my magnesium today? BTW, did you? Should I be?)
These tiny, unspoken routines are love letters to the life we’re living right now, folks—the gloriously chaotic, unexpectedly hilarious, and deeply satisfying tiny moments that add up to everything. And the hopeful acceptance of life— as it comes. And honestly, isn’t that the best part of each additional year we’re lucky enough to live?
So here’s my question: what sneaky, middle-aged habits are shaping your life these days? Is it the precise way you fold your throw blankets to preserve that perfect sofa aesthetic? Or maybe it’s the Apple playlist you curate with songs solely from the decade you peaked. (For me, it’s ‘90s R&B, which still hits like a personal anthem. Yes, I’m talking Fugees on repeat.)
Whatever it is, I want to hear about it. Share your middle-age moments in the comments—your quirks, your rituals, your completely unnecessary yet deeply satisfying obsessions. I’ll be over here, rotating between my four pairs of readers and pretending not to notice when Ira inevitably steals the pink ones again.
Middle age: we didn’t ask for it, but damn if we’re not making it fabulous.
Now go forth, friend, and celebrate the absurd brilliance of life’s middle chapters. (And don’t forget to grab your glasses on the way out.)
Every essay will feature a section called “One Fine Microjoy” – an experience, place, or thing that brings me joy, grace, and hope amidst life’s ups and downs. I hope it invites you to recognize and appreciate the delights that ground, inspire, and enrich our journey.
Today’s microjoy: discernment. Yep, this is what’s giving me pause and joy right now. Embracing discernment has been a focus for me lately, especially pre and post election. Discernment—the ability to perceive, understand, and judge clearly and thoughtfully—isn’t about learning or mastering anything new; but instead, leaning into what I already know. It’s the quiet confirmation of knowing when to say yes, when to say no, and when to let things unfold without my involvement and/or commentary. [Because sheesh, we live in a world where everyone seems to feel the need to share an opinion.] I’ve been taking more pauses before I respond. And I’ll ask myself, “Does this (whatever it is) feel light or heavy? Will my input shift the situation? Does this move me closer to my ideal life, or further away?” The microjoy isn’t in getting everything “right” but in realizing that I already have the wisdom to recognize what decision to make next. And there’s such profound grace in trusting this guidance.
Welcome to Life, Created.
With love, wisdom [and small mercies] from Montclair. xx
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