one fourth of a life
By: Samantha Beningfield
Tags: Fomo, Choices, Decision Making, Life

It’s preposterous to claim a quarter-life crisis. How could you possibly know ahead of time when the 25% mark would be? I have known people who didn’t live to celebrate the age I’ll turn later this year. Those who didn’t have the luxury of knowing at age 7 they’d be quarter-life. I’m aware there is no guarantee of any moment beyond right now and yet I cannot shake this looming idea of future. Of a future, the future, planning for my future, investing into a shared future.

And looming really only begins to describe it. Like some abominable snowman; without distinct features, whose shape and significance might just blur into a snowy blizzardy background. Before I fall asleep these days, this giant seems to twist his hands between my thoughts and crack open a mass of dread that seems less likely to bother me in the day or even the following morning.

I don’t know if this dread has always been there or if it’s new- certainly the acute awareness of it seems to have grown in the past 18 months. Perhaps being in an accepting and unconditional relationship has opened up this part of me to light. Odd that unconditional loving from another can produce the environment that breeds the kind of weepy, vulnerable conditions I find so uncomfortable to love in myself.

I can remember this fear in choosing a degree at university. It took months to make a tentative commitment to medicine. Even then, I did so partly motivated by the idea that working as a doctor would allow me to make enough money to turn all my other interests into hobbies. I made the choice that wouldn’t limit my choices in future- used my last wish to ask for unlimited wishes.

I think a great deal of the fear is totally illogical. Or at least, that it doesn’t seem to have any logical solution. It’s in not being able to make out the details of the snowman’s face but at the same time it’s fear of having everything known, or worse predictable. Having a clear, chosen path without spontaneity or room for chance has always seemed dreadfully dreary and yet, right now, not having direction feels frightful.

On some unreachable level I know I cannot have all of the futures I imagine and perhaps it is this that haunts me. The loss of all the lives I’ll never live. The parallel adventures I’ll mourn if I choose any single path. The island life I’ll lose if I live in a country I love, with family I can’t imagine being far from. The carefree, traveller’s life; a house filled with trinkets collected from the globe- losing out on being the interesting aunt if I choose to have my own stable family. The chance to carry life, to breastfeed, to watch little people becoming that I’d miss if I choose to fill my passport. The vibrant city lights that would inevitably remind me of the starry, simple farm life I’d be losing out on.

I am aware that this may sound like the rant of a spoiled little girl, wanting it all. And perhaps there is some indignation at the idea of having to grieve somethings that I will never have. As though I’ll be the virtual eternal scroller, double-tapping with envy as the multiple versions of my life live out in parallel to my own one real life.

Maybe I’m seeking out the noble where there is none, but I think there is another layer here. And I suppose that layer is a(nother) fear of regret. The regret I would experience if any one of the paths appeared to grow greener grass than the one I found myself on. I am concerned that looking back, wishing I’d made different decisions will lead to discontent. Which of course is ironic- will it be a similar level of discontent to what I am feeling currently? Discontentment as I look out to the next three quarters of life that might only be another half, or less.*

And yet I have a flexible job, wonderful housemates, a considerate and loving partner, a life close to the sea, nature readily accessed and family that aren’t far. Really only reasons to be content. In the yoga classes I teach, being present is what I preach. Can I take my own advice?

Tim Minchin speaks about being micro-ambitious. That focusing too far ahead blurs our ability to appreciate the current. Perhaps whittling down my dread starts with adjusting focus on the snowflakes that are visible and alterable. Seeing that the snowman among the snow may only be the illusion of a future I might not even be lucky enough to have.

*I must add that I turn 29 at my next birthday, which clearly means I have great faith in modern medicine to take me to 116 years of age.

**Images are my own, not for reproduction.