Faced with the challenges of middle age, numerous parties disintegrate and ignite. But is there a different way?

As a well-adjusted middle-aged man, I like to define myself by the things I dont have. I dont have a scarlet Lamborghini or a conspicuous tattoo or a 22 -year-old girlfriend to jumpstart my libido. Nor do I own a propensity for extreme athletics or expensive psychotherapy. Midway through my fifth decade, Ive scaped the obvious difficulties and anticipate Im coping quite well, which is why I am on my course examined the male midlife crisis with the healer Andrew G Marshall, who has written a book on the subject. Its a assignment that requires a refrigerate and impartial gaze. We will be like two physicians, I choose, objectively diagnosing the problems of others.

Inside his therapy room, Marshall directs me to an armchair and condescends to pour out some liquid. First intuitions could hardly be more reassure: Marshall is a soothing, sober follower in colorful robes. He requests about my background and my health, moving from my childhood to my present circumstances. I respond as candidly as I can, still self-confident Ill be given the all-clear. I tell him I sailed past my 40 th birthday with no problem at all. After that, admittedly, there was a difficult spell, one that lasted perhaps four years. I roll all the things that happened. I tell him that my relationship broke down and I moved out of my home. I tell him our friend died suddenly, which threw me for a curve. I mention that my father fell ill. Oh, and that I also got married. I tell him that I then had a second child to primed alongside my 11 -year-old daughter from the previous relationship. I tell him I quit my work and quit London, and that we now live out west. I tell him I think thats about it, although there might be some trash Ive forgotten. But by now Im out of breath, shaken. Recited as a index, those past four years announced positively existential.

Marshall scribbles notes in his pad. He expects who I turned to for help during this difficult period. I tell him I didnt certainly turn to anybody: I went through the worst alone. Why would I want to have people insuring me as a mess?

Its quite interesting, he replies. You belonging to what we nowadays call the metropolitan upper-clas. Most of my purchasers, by your age, have had at least three healers. Whereas you went through this incredible stage and not only did you not strive professional facilitate, you actually separated yourself from your friends.

I nod dutifully, and hitherto something he added has already stuck in my craw. I dont consider myself part of the metropolitan nobility, and Im annoyed that he would blithely stick me in that carton. Nor, for that matter, am I convinced Ive had a midlife crisis, despite the bald evidence of those torrid four years. But thats the specific characteristics of cliche. We may recognize ourself as one thing, unique and specific; the world encounters us as another as a social demographic or a cluster of symptoms.

Marshalls own interest is based on both personal and professional event. His partner died when he was in his late 30 s and this pitched him into what he describes as the bleakest period of my life. Meanwhile, all around, his patients were navigating a same organize of obstructions. The Office for National Statistics reports that 40- to 59 -year-olds were more anxious age group. Marshall believes this anxiety is activated by a abrupt awareness of fatality and a panic of failure; the nagging, horrific sense that we will never fulfil our true potential.

No you want to be able to own up to a midlife crisis: the condition is redolent of too many bad pranks. On setting out to write his new book, Marshall even deliberated before putting the word in the name, am worried that the merely mention might intimidate readers away. Finally, he opted for a wily masquerade, referencing the condition while denying its existence. The book is called Its Not A Midlife Crisis, Its An Opportunity, subhead: How To Be Forty- Or Fifty-Something Without Departing Off The Rails.

Marshall has realise many fatalities in his time people who, when faced with the challenges presented by middle age, immediately gate-crash and burn. A pile of parties flunk the test, he remarks. They anaesthetise themselves with beverage, generally. Or with computer games, or pornography. Or with production. And if you dont answer the issues to, you become bitter, closed off and cynical.

I start to wonder whether I flunked the test. Marshall surely seems to think I was guilty of closing myself off. He supposes, Im getting a strong theme that youre not allowed to be susceptible. That you need to be loved, hitherto, when occasions get difficult, you withdraw from everybody. Its a strange dichotomy. Because on the one mitt youre an open notebook in a instead self-controlled route, in that youre a correspondent and therefore in charge of the words. But the rest of you is completely closed.

I dont think I was completely closed, I respond. I merely didnt want people to see me in disarray.

Im sorry, he responds securely, but thats completely closed. You only craved people to find the mask.

OK, I remark. Fine.

And hitherto, actually, its not fine: his whole premise is bullshit. Ogle at us here. Appear at what we are doing. Almost shouting, I mention, Its a nonsensical stuff, you saying Im shut. Im going to write this viciou period up for everybody to read.

Marshall smiles, unperturbed. Yes, well, he enunciates. Often in the latter half of “peoples lives”, we have to do all of the things we didnt do in the first.


The term midlife crisis was coined in 1965 by the Canadian psychologist Elliott Jaques. Marshall believes the label has now outlived its usefulness. He prefers to call it the midlife move. Approached in the right flavour, he mentions, this is a chance to engage with the big questions: who am I? What are my evaluates? What dedicates my life signify? You can meet your genuine ego. You can become your own person.

Marshall has devised exercises to smooth our progress. He describes a simple counting meditation to reduce nervousnes, explains how to enter your thinks, and the events that provoke them. He also invites us to chart the highs and lows of our lives on a graph, moving from infancy through to middle age. I try this last one myself. The boundary bounces and dips with abandon. It sees my life look like a series of cardiac arrests.

The way Marshall tells it, there are three obvious directions through the midlife piece. Fail the challenge, and you tolerate what he describes as an L-shaped life, whatever it is you plummet to Earth and then virtually flatline until extinction. Pass the test, and you win the U-shaped life: a splendid upswing, a brilliant late bloom. Then there is the third option, the joker in the carry, the switchback travel of the W-shaped life. This occurred when you reach for the quick-fix mixture( the thrilling occasion, the scarlet Lamborghini ), or what Marshall calls the myth of the great other. The consequence can be instant, galvanic. But its an artificial high-flown, a dead feline eject that contributes exclusively to more heartache.

Naturally, this draws me wonder about my own environments. The gale has passed; I have a new life in a brand-new municipality. My eras are a whirl of nappy the modifications and country jogs, augmented with odds and sods of semi-regular job. Im pretty sure its not an L-shaped life. But is it a W or is it a U?

Out of the blue, I find myself telling Marshall about a being referred Miroslav Novotny. I think hes originally from the Czech Republic; he communicates rudimentary English. I envision Miroslav Novotny as something out of an Edward Hopper depict, a study in metropolitan loneliness. He wears his trousers too high on his waist. He uses too much hair tonic, smokes reject cigarettes. I explain that my partner and I designed a game we would play when driving the outskirts of south London, in which we work out where Novotny would most like to live. So we target him in that impersonal brick of apartments out by the A20, or feeing egg and microchips inside some heartbreaking greasy spoon. Novotny, of course, does not dwell we induced him up yet the uncomfortable reality is that hes the alternative me. He questions good-for-nothing of anyone and affords good-for-nothing in return.

All at once, I can see it clearly. If I had taken a different road out of all this, Id be Miroslav Novotny, I suppose. And Im glad Im not. But theres a certain consolation in being Miroslav Novotny.

Marshall nods. He enunciates, Life is small but its safe. And I gesture back in aid, because thats it exactly.

Did I have a midlife crisis, I request Marshall.

Yes, you did. He adds that it is not ever advisable to hurl absolutely everything in the air, as I seem to have done. But thats by the by. Stable door, horse bolted. You have been through it and steered it and have had a reasonably soft landing.

He asks if I have any further questions. So I ask whether he watches the midlife crisis as a peculiarly first-world problem, a kind of luxury supplementary rendered to those with too much duration on their hands. Im not sure you have one if youre under besieging in Aleppo.

Marshall has his incredulities. Its not a suit of having too much occasion on your hands, he contends. It comes with a great mallet and smashes you over the thought. So I think its something intrinsic in human. The first world-third world distinction is the wrong idea.

My second question is more personal: I ask if he believes its possible to be both horribly anxious and basically joyous, because thats how Ive been feeling for the past time or so.

Yes, I think you can, he refutes. But if we were to continue working together, the anxiety is something we would be looking at. I think that anxiety and temper could be the keynotes for you.

He is keen to accentuate the positive, though. It voices to me like you have totally transformed your life. Youve become from closed to open. From drive focused to clas focused. From self-sufficient to more attached. From the small macrocosm of

Miroslav Novotny.

From the small world of Miroslav Novotny to the larger macrocosm of family and children and a brand-new metropolitan. But the anxiety is something I would be working on. Anxiety and feeling are like brother and sister.

I walk back to the tube in something of a stupefy. I experience as though Ive expended the past 90 hours being dangled upside down by the ankles, watching all the detritus descending from my pockets. Some of this jumble was innocuous ephemera, but other flecks were jagged and rusted. Some were foul-smelling, some smeared with dehydrated blood. With them croaked, I seem lighter.


One month subsequently, I fill Marshall again, this time in a bookshop above a coffeehouse. Its late August, and the therapist is on holiday. Hes bare-kneed in brown suddenlies, with a natty straw hat perched on his pink scalp, a print of Graham Swifts Waterland parked in the villain of one limb. Checking him here is slightly flustering, like bumping into a teacher away from school.

He asks how Ive been and I assure him Im fine. I tell him, in fact, that Ive been suspiciously fine. Ive started to wonder whether the session itself was a kind of quick fix. I annoy I painted myself in very positive a light-footed; I obsess he moved too quickly to endorse my depiction. This would normally be about a six-month process. We went through it in about 90 times flat.

Well, yes, Marshall agrees. Its not the most effective means of doing it, so you have to be careful. I symbolize, if I had been aware of some really horrible substance, I would have skated over it, because I dont want to open up that can of worms. If we assured there was a total auto gate-crash in the wings, I might well have acknowledged it but I wouldnt come up and peer through the window.

But, happily, there wasnt. And although there was, I had the appreciation youd come through it comparatively unscathed.

I feel Ive cleared conciliation with my crisis, but what comes next? I want to know what other obstacles Im going to face in my 50 s, to steer clear of more tribulation, if I can.

But the healer smilings. Hes in vacation mode. What comes next? Well, magnificent times. If youve done the work of the middle text, then youre in a very good target, the sunny uplands of life. The next theme is not what gives your life meaning, but what gives meaning to everyones life. Its a more spiritual investigation: the soul versus the infinite. Another grinning. Im not even sure whether care is the right place to answer those questions. You may need to roll up your sleeves and go and do it yourself.

The house where I now live is roosted high on a hill, a steep 15 -minute climb from the nearest study terminal. I try to make this journey on foot as often as I can( if Im losing my mane, I figure I can at least molt some heavines along with it ). Sometimes I wonder how I must look to the motorists driving by. A sweaty, middle-aged follower with a red face and bad posture, sometimes pushing hard at a buggy for added humor appreciate. The being is a wreck. Every steps an agony. But near the top of the hill, the road fluctuates out from the darkness. The city sags away and the scope is interminable. And this, I decide, is my favourite part of the journeying. One might almost be participating the sunny uplands of life, approaching a live that feels very nearly like home.

Its Not A Midlife Crisis, Its An Opportunity issued by Marshall Method Publishing at 12.99.


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