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Or... A guest post from a fellow midlifer.
Hey Heroine… You ever get knocked flat by a beast of a cold and just not had the energy to get up again?
That’s me on this dark and cloudy Scottish Sunday afternoon. I once made Mark swear to me that we would never live anywhere cold again, but yet here we are, both sneezing and coughing over each other and bemoaning the fact that we are, in fact, cold. There’s a lot more I’d like to say about climate and the concept of home, as well as nomading. But right now, it feels like my right lymph node is about to pop out of my neck, so it’s time for a guest post.
Andrea Hoffmann has been writing since she was 9, and it shows. Her publication, What are the Chances, shares the trials, tribulations, and adventures of being a midlifer and a Gen X sandwich generation member. She’ll make you ponder, question, and maybe pee your pants a little laughing Here she is giving us some solid advice on why you should choose now over never and showing us what you can accomplish when you accept the call.
Someday Came
by Andrea Hoffmann
Years ago, I stood on a Caribbean beach, gazing at the sailboats docked in the cove. A blue one caught my eye. It was bobbing in the morning sun, its captain likely asleep below deck. The boat’s name struck me and I’ve thought of it ever since: Someday Came.
At the time, I was neck deep in mothering school-aged kids, running a small copywriting business, and renovating a kitchen. I was too overwhelmed with to-dos to fully unwind, even on a tropical vacation. But that boat. I imagined its owner dreaming of life on the water for who knows how long. Then, finally, they made it happen. Someday came.
It forced me to consider just how often I said, “Someday…” myself, as I pushed my dreams, art, or personal interests off to a future date just beyond my fingertips. There were simply too many important responsibilities and obligations to everyone and everything else. It was selfish to take time away from that for myself.
Or so I believed.
I learned what I had lived
I witnessed my dad delaying gratification his whole life. He was a gifted musician, but also a young father without a college degree. He and my mother struggled financially with two kids and no money, until the chasm between them became too wide to cross. They were divorced before they were 30, and he retreated to the safety of his parents’ home. He never left.
As I entered my teens and twenties, I’d ask my father, “Why don’t you write more music? Send it off?” He’d always say, “Someday, when I retire…” or “Someday, when I finally get the lyrics right…”
It wasn’t just his music, either. It was his interest in travel, and his penchant for photography, and his hope to buy his own home.
“Someday, I’ll get to Greece.”
“Someday, I’ll shoot the Northern Lights.”
“Someday, I’ll book studio time and get the new songs recorded.”
“When I build my house someday, it’ll have radiant heat.”
He died at 59. Someday never came for him.
That woke me up
I’m 51 now. With each passing year, 59 seems younger and younger. At the turn of my newest decade, I ate my birthday cake with a large scoop of F*CK IT.
50 years had accumulated behind me.
50 years of lessons and achievements and mistakes.
Half a century of relationships and experiences and adventures.
50 January firsts to resolve to do something a little better or different or more consistently.
Yet, I hadn’t built the creative life I imagined. It was time to stop messing around. I had short-changed and martyred myself when I really shouldn’t have—time. Time to chart a new course.
The fallacy of no time
It had been too easy to hide behind not having the time. Life is insanely busy. Technology was supposed to make us efficient and give us extra hours to pursue our happiness. It has failed spectacularly.
We have less downtime than ever because tech sucks our attention like a shop vac in a basement flood. The unintended consequence of having the world at our fingertips is an addiction to our devices’ constant deluge of unnecessary information. I have absolutely no business watching a commercial chef making cream-filled croissants in France, yet there I was, glued to Instagraminstagram and his super-proofed dough.
I audited my time and environment
We all have the same 24 hours in a day. Why was I not creating the life I wanted with mine? I wasn’t spending quality time with my husband or friends. I wasn’t feeling fulfilled. Was I even “living”?
Changes were required. So changes were made.
Instagram had to go. My time on it as a “creator” (which I was awful at), and my time as a “consumer” both had to stop. I’m embarrassed to admit that simple change helped me reclaim two hours A DAY. (I know, I know. Pitiful.)
I cook at least five nights a week; I cut it down to two and made three dinners at a time. That saved me a few hours and actually helped us avoid the “hungry-now-and-don’t-feel-like-cooking” mayday calls to the local Italian place (so it also saved money!)
To “find” time for exercise, I took all calls with family and friends along on my walks. Yes, they had to endure some of my huffing and puffing, but talking to them was my reward for moving my body. If they weren’t available, I turned my attention to podcasts or great 80’s music! Nothing lifts my mood like Billy Joel and Def Leppard!
I reduced my consumption and increased my production of writing. This was the hardest change, but also the most important.
Prioritizing production over consumption
I love to read. If you’re here, I bet you do, too. Novels, non-fiction books, newspapers, newsletters, anything I can get my hands on. I used my non-stop consumption as a way to procrastinate on my own production.
Why spend two hours writing when I can spend two hours reading about writing best practices? <Headslap> Turns out, that’s a common form of self-sabotage for writers.
I decided it was time for the rubber to hit the road. I had things to say; I had stories to tell; I had a need to share my experiences in hopes of connecting with others going through similar things. It was time.
Choose now over never
Are you thinking about your own Heroine’s Journey, who you are, what you want, and how that’s changed over time? Are you in the midst of a reinvention, or are you stretching on the sidelines, about to dive in? It might help to remember a few things:
If it’s in your heart, it’s meant for you.
When it’s meant for you, there are no mistakes.
You are imperfect, and so is everyone else. Embrace it.
Imposter Syndrome affects every single person. Ignore it.
You know enough.
You’re good enough.
You’re smart enough.
You’re talented enough.
We all have an expiration date. If not now, when?
What would you tell your 20-year old self?
The death app
I keep an app on my phone called We Croak. It triggers daily, stoic reminders that death is coming for us. Before you clutch your pearls and decry I’m dark and macabre, let’s be logical for a second: none of us get out of here alive. Accepting that truth without fear helps me shake off whatever’s been shackling my ankles. Ask yourself, Will my doubts matter in 100 years? Absolutely not. So, go try it already.
What my year looked like
When I turned 50 and had the epiphany, I took action.
I published two illustrated children’s books that I’m actually proud of (currently on Amazon).
I wrote a corporate marketing book that is great for the financial services niche and even more fantastic for regular people looking for a cure for insomnia.
I penned a book about overcoming limiting beliefs, which I’m thinking about retooling and serializing this year.
I took three trips to see my college roommates, who I typically only see once a year.
My husband and I took the kids to Costa Rica at long last.
I put a pedometer app on my phone and started logging steps.
I found a doctor who listens, and finally got answers about my whacked-outwhacked out hormones.
I cured my hot flashes. (Miracle!)
And most excitingly, I started my Substack, What Are the Chances?, which talks very honestly about all my adventures, missteps, and curiosities. Over 2,300 people hit the subscribe button in my first three months (and that includes the month of November, which, for some reason, was a total flatline).
The best thing I never knew existed
An IG friend told me about Substack (which was actually the greatest result of my entire IG experiment). I admit, I hadn’t heard of it. I think I confused it with Reddit, if I’m being totally honest. I checked it out for a few days and then dove in with the best attitude one can have when embarking on a new creative endeavor: What’s the worst that can happen?
At first, I was utterly confused about the platform. I didn’t know a post from a note from a restack. Nothing made sense to me, so I fumbled my way through. I only had one condition for myself: ignore all gurus.
I had fallen headlong into the guru trap on Instagram, and I’m fairly certain that’s why my experience was so unsatisfying. Attempting to follow to a T the blueprint of what worked for someone else is a highway to inauthenticity. On Substack, I veered off that road in favor of 4-wheeling it through the unpaved bramble. Whether I succeeded or failed, it was going to be all me all the way.
I got my first subscriber. Then, my second.
I was utterly giddy that anyone was willing to read what I had to say, and I admitted that publicly in a note. More subscribers found me. I shared my thoughts and adventures almost daily, and people DM’d to THANK ME. I was humbled and turbo-charged at the same time.
I shared pieces about my breast cancer scare, my first hot flash, and my struggle with my daughter going off to college. I was honest. I laughed at myself. I yelled into the void… but, the void started filling up with other women saying, “Me too!” and “Hell, yeah!” and “I needed that!”
As a career-long corporate copywriter, I can say with complete confidence that not once had I ever put out a brochure and been met with gratitude from the person reading it.
Several strangers became friends through Substack, and I can no longer imagine how I ever lived without their humor, energy, and counsel. I love them so much! None of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t accepted my mortality, owned up to my imperfect experiences, and given an outlet to that voice inside of me eager to finally speak up.
Set sail
You’ve got something brewing in you. Something you daydream about. A “what if…” swirling in your imagination. It’s time to set forth on your heroine’s journey. Maybe it’s here on Substack; maybe it’s through a different channel. The place is less important than the progress.
To get anywhere, you must move forward. I promise, you don’t need to know exactly where your effort will lead. You don’t need to have all the answers. You may not even know all the questions. Just take the first step.
Someday has come.
To follow along on my journey through life and Substack, come find me at What Are the Chances? I don’t have all the answers, but I do share ‘em as I find ‘em!
That’s some juicy advice with practical yet magical steps to move you toward your “someday.” It’s clear Andrea is a heroine. You should join her on her adventure.
 | A guest post by
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Hope you and your husband feel better soon! Great share! Loved it.