My unapologetically pretentious title comes from the opening line of Dante’s Inferno. Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita, mi ritrovai per una selva oscura; “In the middle of the pathway of our life, I found myself lost in an obscure forest…” Or at least that’s my remembered translation of that line, apologies to any Italian Medievalists out there.

I came up with it for a couple of reasons. The most obvious one is that it sounds so much more refined than mid-life crisis, which conjures up messy divorces, experimental surgery, or (shudder) men in spandex taking up cycling. And I don’t think this really captures the moment I am in – “crisis” is all a bit extreme. Crisis suggests drama, violence, all hands on deck. Crisis is demanding, undeniable and visible from space. In many ways, a crisis would be easier to respond to, it prompts an adrenaline rush and gets everyone’s full attention. No, I am not in a crisis, just stasis. With maybe a pinch of corrosion.

Nel Mezzo is also meant to capture that sense of ‘in the middle of things’. When I was young, people in their latter 40’s seemed on the cusp of retirement, certainly if they hadn’t figured their professional life out by then, they were not going to. They were, let’s face it, already staring down the barrel of ‘the end of things’. Now, it is not entirely crazy to suggest us 40-somethings still have another two decades of active professional life ahead of us. In my case, that would be vastly more time than I spent on the first iterations of my career. I am still right in the middle of our working lives.

The pathway forward is just obscured.

And finally, well, it harks back to my younger student self, where I dabbled in some Dante (it seemed a good idea at the time). As my kids start their university journeys, that feisty young woman returns to me in rose-tinted rendering. I am reminded how alive my brain felt, how full of potential I imagined myself, and how every interaction was an intellectual spark (yeah, I know, rose tinted). I survey the present decay of my grey matter and feel, more than anything, the weight of existential under-utilisation. I could – I should – be doing something more. Indeed, I still feel I have it in me to do something extraordinary. 

By way of background, I think my story thus far is sufficiently generic that it will resonate with others: I got a decent enough start in life, a great education, and went on to have a not-unusual early career, first in academia, and then in the City. A few years in, I was married and wanted to start a family. After some hiccups, we got going on that, and three kids ensued. Looking after them was fairly full-time for many years, but of course there were also volunteer roles, house renovation projects, and general domestic governance duties that filled up the time. And then, slowly, there was microscopically less and less every day, the to-do lists didn’t quite propel me forward with the same momentum, the demands felt ever more uninspiring. And slowly, it became clear that I need to do something gratifying, worthwhile, impressive or I will not be able to look myself in the mirror (which, let’s face it, in your late 40’s is an increasingly disappointing prospect anyway).

So I decided to write a blog about my Dantean journey from existentially underutilised to whatever I will be for the next two (or more?) decades. Hopefully I can leave the Dante on the shelf for most of it, as I’m not necessarily feeling the need to circumvent the many layers of hell along the way. And I also may not end up in paradise, let’s be honest. 

But I’d like my past and future selves to be able to recognise each other. I’d like my kids to look at me in a new – ideally, surprised – way. I’d like to leave a mark on the world. And holy fucknuggets, would I like to not have to write “housewife” on any form that asks for my job. 

And heck, I like that dark forest in Italian is selva oscura – which I wantonly mistranslate as my “obscured self”. I mean, how perfect?