Midlifing as a hero’s journey
October 1, 2006 | 12:00am
Lately, I’ve been meeting too many people going through midlife. I guess it has to do with my age and my milieu. We’re all going through the inescapable business of growing old. Some do it with grace while others have a harder time of it. And it all depends on how one maneuvers through its pitfalls. If done right, it could be the greatest adventure of our lives.
The term "midlife crisis" is actually inaccurate. It doesn’t necessarily start at midlife. In fact, it can start as early as our mid-twenties. But at whatever age it happens, it will hit everyone. And the right word should be "crises," not "crisis," since it more likely comes to us in a series, or as a protracted struggle. But let me tell you that midlife is actually a gift. How can something so difficult and painful be a gift, you ask? Because it holds much promise, if you know what to do with it.
Midlife dawns as something like this: you are living an ordinary life where the familiar and the comfortable rule, and it seems like all of a sudden, you wake up to deep dissatisfaction. It can be caused by many factors but what becomes clear is that overnight, nothing seems to be working – the job, the marriage, religion, sex, or one’s idea of how life should be lived. Or all of the above!
It is similar to that first rude awakening when we met up with grim reality in our childhood, like discovering there is no Santa Claus. Or some traumatic realization, like, say, finding out that one’s family is actually a second, illegitimate one. Or losing one’s home or the sense of financial security early in life. In my case, I lost my father at age six and that single event redefined my family life completely.
These traumas can come in various forms and circumstances but the common thread is the losing of one’s innocence. Everyone gets downgraded, expelled, evicted out of Eden and thrown into a new life of coping with a less than perfect world. So it is with midlife crises.
The decline in one’s fortunes, says M. Scott Peck, can be the start of one’s spiritual journey. This is what Joseph Campbell, the mythologist, calls "the hero’s journey." It consists of the Departure, Initiation and the Return. And these are the stages many midlifers find themselves going through.
The world, as you know it, fails you. Something momentous happens. You lose a job, a loved one, your health fails, etc., or you lose your sense of purpose in living.
In midlife, one is jarred from his present circumstances by forces greater than himself that seem to connive to get him out of the comfort zone. Think of Frodo fleeing the Shire. Or Shakyamuni Buddha leaving his perfect castle after he sees suffering in the world in the persons of four lepers. Think of Ninoy’s descent from power, his detention in Laur detention and his exile in the US. In all these circumstances, there is clearly a break of sorts and one never knows how the story will turn out. Life has become a cliffhanger waiting to happen.
Of course, it is possible that the hero can refuse the call to adventure. He could be in denial and decide to stay put in his comfort zone and say "no thanks" to the invitation to grow.
I suspect this is the biggest temptation when one is midlifing. Because of the fear of change or the unknown, we could choose the status quo. We could refuse to move forward. We could remain stuck between dreams, loves, careers and callings. And instead of working on casting our sails and allowing a second wind to propel the next half of our life’s journey, we could drown in boredom and regress to smaller versions of ourselves, refusing to learn anything new and becoming judgmental and bitter over lives unlived.
When that becomes unbearable, some pursue toxic substitutes for a real life of felt vibrancy and purpose. In place of an internal journey, life becomes an external, insatiable pursuit of various addictions – sex, gambling, substance abuse, religion as an opiate, or other destructive practices.
But when the hero heeds the call, he takes a leap in the dark. He, of course, does not yet see that he is not doing this alone. He may even complain that he has no choice as he finds himself on the journey. He may even doubt his sanity for embarking on it, not knowing that the universe is part of the conspiracy to get him to fulfill his life’s purpose. But if he pays attention he will see signs everywhere that "supernatural" forces seem to be at work to help him in his journey. He may catch on to the idea that there may be a "divine plan" that is leading him to all this. Think of Gandalf and the other fairies showing up out of nowhere to help Frodo move forward. Think of friends or even mere acquaintances from the past who suddenly appear, seemingly by "chance," to point you toward new directions or opportunities. Think of serendipitous events, meetings that have changed the course of your life.
So the hero embarks on his journey. It is difficult and threatens to break him into pieces. The darkest moment is when the hero feels the final separation from the world he knows. This is akin to Jonah in the belly of the whale. One feels complete isolation and, yes, great doubt. There is a feeling of being in limbo, "neither here nor there." Think of the Jews wandering in the desert after leaving Egypt. Midlifing is the pits.
At this stage, something important happens. One begins to sense a willingness to let go of his old self, to allow his known identity to die as he feels the stirrings of a new one germinating in the darkness. He is hearing tiny impulses – aspects of himself that were never given opportunities to express themselves. He is getting a partial glimpse of an old but seemingly new truth – his open-endedness as a person full of potential to grow in limitless ways.
As in every mythic story, there are trials the hero must face for the transformation to be complete. There are dragons to slay. Joseph Campbell points out that the "tests" quite often come in threes in mythic narratives. Think of the devil’s three offers to Jesus in the desert, or Buddha grappling with the three temptations under the Bodhi tree.
For mere mortals like us, it may or may not come in threes but the pain and intensity of the struggle are just as challenging. It is meant to stretch us and force us to grow in ways we may not be ready to accept. This is the heart of darkness, the center of gravity of the journey. It is the purification. It is asking us to die and metamorphose to something bigger, or give up and die the slow meaningless death of one who never tried to go for his dreams.
At this stage, the person must stand before whatever has ultimate power over him. It is a God experience, no doubt.
We awaken to the discovery of the divine inside, the unconditional love in us, that which is ready to embrace life and say "yes" to whatever it offers. It’s the Christ in us drinking from the cup of life. It is life itself affirming its impulse to keep growing through us. We begin to see ourselves in a whole, non-dualistic way, not apart from life but one with all of it – the good and bad, the ugly and beautiful, the sublime and the sacred, and at peace with the "pair of opposites," which is what life truly is all about. We stand at a moment when we truly understand the earthly and divine power we have always possessed but did not realize till now. We experience the transcendent, the eternal. We have learned valuable lessons to share with the world.
After the great "aha," one must descend back to the ordinary world.
Like Rizal, Ninoy, Frodo, Jesus, Buddha and all heroes, one is asked to return to the place he left. But why come back to the common life of a mortal when one has tasted the elixir of the Gods? And yet, the hero must return with the gifts he has been blessed with. And like the first part of the journey, guides and assistants once again appear to remind the hero of his purpose, lest he squander it all on narcissism. Jack Cornfield’s Zen book entitled After Enlightenment, The Laundry, says it all.
In the process, though, lie more traps that can weaken the "enlightened one" as he returns to a place where the air is less rarified. It is tricky business, this landing safely. One must be at home in both domains – to live in the world but be not of it.
In practical terms, it means living the second half of life with more purpose and joy. It is the mastery of living, when one enjoys freedom from the fear of death, which is the freedom to live. This means living in the present moment, saying yes to whatever the future brings and forgiving the past.
In midlife, we are asked to throw away the old operating system of our impetuous, impulsive youth, the one that felt invincible but was lacking in wisdom, the one that was too earthbound and was not interested in the divine. In its place, we are asked to create a new software that will work with a mere mortal body but can handle with greater ease the new balance that a life without fear needs to finally complete its mission.
E-mail the author at jim_paredes@hotmail.com.
The term "midlife crisis" is actually inaccurate. It doesn’t necessarily start at midlife. In fact, it can start as early as our mid-twenties. But at whatever age it happens, it will hit everyone. And the right word should be "crises," not "crisis," since it more likely comes to us in a series, or as a protracted struggle. But let me tell you that midlife is actually a gift. How can something so difficult and painful be a gift, you ask? Because it holds much promise, if you know what to do with it.
Midlife dawns as something like this: you are living an ordinary life where the familiar and the comfortable rule, and it seems like all of a sudden, you wake up to deep dissatisfaction. It can be caused by many factors but what becomes clear is that overnight, nothing seems to be working – the job, the marriage, religion, sex, or one’s idea of how life should be lived. Or all of the above!
It is similar to that first rude awakening when we met up with grim reality in our childhood, like discovering there is no Santa Claus. Or some traumatic realization, like, say, finding out that one’s family is actually a second, illegitimate one. Or losing one’s home or the sense of financial security early in life. In my case, I lost my father at age six and that single event redefined my family life completely.
These traumas can come in various forms and circumstances but the common thread is the losing of one’s innocence. Everyone gets downgraded, expelled, evicted out of Eden and thrown into a new life of coping with a less than perfect world. So it is with midlife crises.
The decline in one’s fortunes, says M. Scott Peck, can be the start of one’s spiritual journey. This is what Joseph Campbell, the mythologist, calls "the hero’s journey." It consists of the Departure, Initiation and the Return. And these are the stages many midlifers find themselves going through.
In midlife, one is jarred from his present circumstances by forces greater than himself that seem to connive to get him out of the comfort zone. Think of Frodo fleeing the Shire. Or Shakyamuni Buddha leaving his perfect castle after he sees suffering in the world in the persons of four lepers. Think of Ninoy’s descent from power, his detention in Laur detention and his exile in the US. In all these circumstances, there is clearly a break of sorts and one never knows how the story will turn out. Life has become a cliffhanger waiting to happen.
Of course, it is possible that the hero can refuse the call to adventure. He could be in denial and decide to stay put in his comfort zone and say "no thanks" to the invitation to grow.
I suspect this is the biggest temptation when one is midlifing. Because of the fear of change or the unknown, we could choose the status quo. We could refuse to move forward. We could remain stuck between dreams, loves, careers and callings. And instead of working on casting our sails and allowing a second wind to propel the next half of our life’s journey, we could drown in boredom and regress to smaller versions of ourselves, refusing to learn anything new and becoming judgmental and bitter over lives unlived.
When that becomes unbearable, some pursue toxic substitutes for a real life of felt vibrancy and purpose. In place of an internal journey, life becomes an external, insatiable pursuit of various addictions – sex, gambling, substance abuse, religion as an opiate, or other destructive practices.
But when the hero heeds the call, he takes a leap in the dark. He, of course, does not yet see that he is not doing this alone. He may even complain that he has no choice as he finds himself on the journey. He may even doubt his sanity for embarking on it, not knowing that the universe is part of the conspiracy to get him to fulfill his life’s purpose. But if he pays attention he will see signs everywhere that "supernatural" forces seem to be at work to help him in his journey. He may catch on to the idea that there may be a "divine plan" that is leading him to all this. Think of Gandalf and the other fairies showing up out of nowhere to help Frodo move forward. Think of friends or even mere acquaintances from the past who suddenly appear, seemingly by "chance," to point you toward new directions or opportunities. Think of serendipitous events, meetings that have changed the course of your life.
So the hero embarks on his journey. It is difficult and threatens to break him into pieces. The darkest moment is when the hero feels the final separation from the world he knows. This is akin to Jonah in the belly of the whale. One feels complete isolation and, yes, great doubt. There is a feeling of being in limbo, "neither here nor there." Think of the Jews wandering in the desert after leaving Egypt. Midlifing is the pits.
At this stage, something important happens. One begins to sense a willingness to let go of his old self, to allow his known identity to die as he feels the stirrings of a new one germinating in the darkness. He is hearing tiny impulses – aspects of himself that were never given opportunities to express themselves. He is getting a partial glimpse of an old but seemingly new truth – his open-endedness as a person full of potential to grow in limitless ways.
For mere mortals like us, it may or may not come in threes but the pain and intensity of the struggle are just as challenging. It is meant to stretch us and force us to grow in ways we may not be ready to accept. This is the heart of darkness, the center of gravity of the journey. It is the purification. It is asking us to die and metamorphose to something bigger, or give up and die the slow meaningless death of one who never tried to go for his dreams.
At this stage, the person must stand before whatever has ultimate power over him. It is a God experience, no doubt.
We awaken to the discovery of the divine inside, the unconditional love in us, that which is ready to embrace life and say "yes" to whatever it offers. It’s the Christ in us drinking from the cup of life. It is life itself affirming its impulse to keep growing through us. We begin to see ourselves in a whole, non-dualistic way, not apart from life but one with all of it – the good and bad, the ugly and beautiful, the sublime and the sacred, and at peace with the "pair of opposites," which is what life truly is all about. We stand at a moment when we truly understand the earthly and divine power we have always possessed but did not realize till now. We experience the transcendent, the eternal. We have learned valuable lessons to share with the world.
Like Rizal, Ninoy, Frodo, Jesus, Buddha and all heroes, one is asked to return to the place he left. But why come back to the common life of a mortal when one has tasted the elixir of the Gods? And yet, the hero must return with the gifts he has been blessed with. And like the first part of the journey, guides and assistants once again appear to remind the hero of his purpose, lest he squander it all on narcissism. Jack Cornfield’s Zen book entitled After Enlightenment, The Laundry, says it all.
In the process, though, lie more traps that can weaken the "enlightened one" as he returns to a place where the air is less rarified. It is tricky business, this landing safely. One must be at home in both domains – to live in the world but be not of it.
In practical terms, it means living the second half of life with more purpose and joy. It is the mastery of living, when one enjoys freedom from the fear of death, which is the freedom to live. This means living in the present moment, saying yes to whatever the future brings and forgiving the past.
In midlife, we are asked to throw away the old operating system of our impetuous, impulsive youth, the one that felt invincible but was lacking in wisdom, the one that was too earthbound and was not interested in the divine. In its place, we are asked to create a new software that will work with a mere mortal body but can handle with greater ease the new balance that a life without fear needs to finally complete its mission.
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