The Big Middle

When I use the title big middle, I wasn't so much thinking of my expanding waistline as the middle ground of life that offers so much opportunity with so little structure to priveleged persons after 30 and before 65, that chasm of space known as not young, not old (check out the Republican Young Guns who are 45-60 if you think I gest). What are we to do if we are mindful and hoping to add our mite to a chaotic space?

So many of my colleagues lead lives so hectic, so barren of an extra moment, that this question barely bounces off a distracted surface point. The concept of choice has been squeezed right out of daily habitude. I long not to be part of this cadre. I fear appearing at the finish line, a pin ball virtual citizen who's scuffed surface no longer reflects anything other than 300,000 miles and looking every minute of the trip. Or my opposite number who is chic and soignee, but mummified for lack of fresh air, but with perfect toes.

My usual saw, "show some discipline" is probably shiny at first view, but asking too much except for those already accustomed to that protocol. What I'm seeking is incremental change that can lead my lost self out of the dark forest of "can't make a decision" to "jeepers I wound up here by accident, but I think I like it."

A friend and I revisited concepts of stuckness today. He introduced me to this term (which made a debut in this blog quite some time ago). Now I find that Jonathan Franzen is using the term on his current new bookbuzzfrenzy. Franzen is a thoughtful writer I admire, I am intrigued to find he has thoughts on the topic. And he stirred my genuine admiration recently for saying that he (only recently) feels his own age (my words) and that this is a good thing.

Is it enough to be mindful but often inept and to accept our position in the continuum that is our own tiny dot of time on the planet? I suspect it's at least a place for me to begin if I am to improve.