It takes a village. It’s one of those generic, overused truisms that frankly, well, is just so true. Whatever your right now looks like – for me, it’s balancing young kids, marriage, entrepreneurship, dad having knee surgery, having a semblance of a social life – could you imagine doing it alone?

Or worse… are you presently doing it alone? Oh I so so hope not.

Asking for help, for support, is one of those things “they” say women – and especially Gen Ex women – tend not to excel at. But – and I don’t mean to brag here – I personally consider myself amazing at asking for help; I do it nearly every damn day, without shame or hesitation.

So what’s my secret? The source of my magic power?

Why it’s my village! My peeps, my posse, my boys and girls. Some hang with me because they seem charmed by my wiles; others because I pay them (hey – you gotta know when you need a pro).

Being a midlife Gen-Xer, I’ve got a lot of balls in the air.

“They” also say you’re as good as the people you surround yourself with – and that’s another truism I buy. I keep quality people around me, but I’m also thoughtful and intentional about who I need in my life at any one time. I keep a running list of critical avatars and ensure my slots are always filled. Do you do the same?

Here’s a rundown of what I consider to be my own essentials right now (beyond family which I consider to be assumed).

Historians: These are the few but mighty girlfriends who know me from the early days. They keep me grounded. We share a deep history that’s priceless. Being around them keeps me (feeling!) young and connected to my whole self.

Self Care Givers: Aging ain’t for the week. At present, my hair colorist, my chiropractor, and my therapists (physical and emotional!) are always on speed dial.

Smarties: Some friends I keep around because they push my thinking in ways that keep me challenged and on my toes. Never a dull moment.

Partners/Colleagues: In my line of work there are myriad moments requiring collaboration – thought partnership, labor sharing, whatever it might be. And whenever possible, I do my collabs with people I just enjoy spending time with. Some think like me, others not at all – but we work in a way that lifts us both up.

My brother: Yes, he’s family. But he deserves his own special Gen X callout as he and I share the worrying over our parents who KNOCK WOOD are hanging tough… and yet aren’t getting any younger. And you just never know…

Parents of kids’ friends: Every mom will resonate here. I always keep close to my heart the phone numbers of parents who kids are in the same class, on the same team, in the same Scout troop…. You know. Because you never know when a carpool will save your damn life.

Drinking buddies: Yes it may be a cocktail, but often it’s a strong English Breakfast. It’s not about booze (and I never make light of what that might mean for some) – but it is about just having people around you who are easy to be with. You can talk about anything or nothing – People mag headlines, gossip, the stuff that’s the social equivalent of watching Netflix. This is how we defrag at the end of a long day.

Ultimately I’ve got others around me – but the above represents the essentials. If I’ve got all of those avatars covered, then I know I’ll be supported – emotionally, physically, professionally, and logistically.

This is what my village looks like.

Have you taken stock of yours lately? Who do you lean on? Who are you missing? And how would your life look different if all of your avatars were there for you on a moments’ notice?

If what you’re looking for is a story of incredible overcoming, then I have faith that Google can deliver those goods in an instant.

Surviving an incredible tragedy, some painful event – a loss, a moment of unfathomable pain – and then emerging a better person because of it… those stories make amazing headlines. We eat them up. They give us hope.

Parents who’ve lost children setting up foundations in their names, people who’ve survived incredible accidents and ultimately achieved feats of athletic near-impossibility, people who have come from nothing, or abuse or torture or disadvantage of any kind and made something incredible of themselves… I could read these stories all day.

I look at people who have lived through such pain and I marvel at their stories of overcoming, of achievement, of glory.

The thread weaving all of these aforementioned stories together is some brand or version of pain – objective, seeable pain. Whether in the form of loss, tragedy, discrimination, disadvantage – watching the overcoming inspires us. It draws us in. It makes us believe; want to be better people ourselves.

Which brings me… to me.

My deepest, darkest secret is this: I am a white, well-educated woman with a middle-class upbringing. I have a lovely home in a wonderful community, and the beautiful family I always dreamed of having.

There. I’ve said it.

And yet prior to my setting out on this journey toward gentler, I felt a yearning for something more; a sense that something was missing.

Seriously? Did you read my darkest secret? What could possibly be missing? Didn’t I have it all?

For years this is what I told myself. I’d push down my sense of wanting, yearning, wondering. I’d seek out the stories of the disadvantaged overcoming, reminding myself I had no such hardship to overcome.

And I felt shame for feeling pain.

Then, during the summer of 2018 we said goodbye to Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain in quick succession. Two suicides. Two people who couldn’t have had it more together.

What an incredible tragedy.

And as I reflected on the holes both personalities left, I realized that pain, wanting and suffering don’t discriminate. They avail themselves to all of us.

Now granted, there is a difference between feeling pain and sadness and feeling self-pity.

I realized I had no case for self-pity. But I could indeed be a privileged white woman who could look her privilege in the face, appreciate it, and also feel a more-shaped hold. (And here I honor the promise I made in this previous post to acknowledge my privilege).

It’s what brought me to the TED talk by Ash Beckham in which she makes the claim that we are all hiding something we need to let go of. Because hard isn’t relative. Hard is hard.

It’s possible – even OK – to be both privileged and feel like life is feeling hard.

I needed her permission to tell myself this.

Neither Kate nor Anthony – may they rest in peace – intended (I presume) to teach us a lesson with their choices. And yet I did manage to extract my own.

I owe it to myself and to my privilege to be honest and forward looking; but also to let myself feel pain when life feels hard.

I can want and strive and have and be grateful.

These are all essential components of the journey I’m on.

For Gen Ex women who are pausing, reflecting, questioning, wondering – what am I doing? How did I get here? Am I on the right path? Sometimes the only thing scarier than answering these questions is the thought of stepping off – or slightly to the left or right – and starting down a whole new path at 40 or 50 or 60.

Starting over at mid-(plus?) life?? The prospect can be terrifying to us Gen-Xers.

And if I’m starting over now at [43? 57? 61?] then what the heck have I wasted all of my time thus far doing?

These are normal, albeit unpleasant thoughts to have. The uncertainty sits in our gut like a lump of coal. And yet so many of us have had them. I’ve certainly had them.

The prospect of having wasted years is almost unfathomable.

But is it sufficiently unfathomable to keep us on an unhappy path? An over or underwhelming one? One in which our purpose feels totally absent?

For me the answer was no. So how did I get there? Did I just force myself to swallow a bitter pill?

Not really.

Instead I tried to focus on rebranding. What if, instead of wondering about years wasted, I was able to heed the sage advice delivered by Steve Jobs in his timeless commencement speech to Stanford’s class of 2005 in which he famously said:

“You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. You have to trust the dots will somehow connect in your future.”

The first time I heard these words I thought they sounded lovely and smart. But they didn’t necessarily hit me in the part that needing hitting.

In fact, it took 10 years of sitting with those words playing on a tape (yep – Gen X) in the background before they really resonated where they needed to.

Sure, I had paved a way for myself in the corporate world. I’d spent years climbing a ladder I didn’t want to climb anymore.

But instead of letting myself believe I was putting all those years to waste, I remembered the wisdom in his words.

Those years were part of my journey. They laid a foundation that may not yet be visible to me – but they are an essential part of who am I and what I know and how I carry myself through the world.

Those years gave me insight and friends and experience and new ways of thinking and crafting and processing… and every single one of those attributes has been woven into the DNA of me.

This is my journey. And I will honor it as such. It will all make sense in the end.

So there is this metaphor out there about the hunter and the farmer. I’m pretty sure it’s an oldie, but it’s new to me. Do you know it?

It goes a little something like this (or at least, my interpretation of it): the hunter is always hungry. She operates out of primal instinct – always on the prowl, and attacks what’s in front of her (this feels a little violent as I type – but you get the idea). She is always going, pursuing, striving.

The farmer, on the other hand is planful – she is sowing the seeds today for the growth she imagines for tomorrow. Her investment of energy today will  yield a bountiful tomorrow, and she isn’t living “kill to kill.” Ugh – again with the violence.

The farmer is asking herself what she’d like to grow; she is planning, taking thoughtful action, assessing progress, and ultimately enjoying the literal fruits of her labor.

This metaphor is resonating with me a great deal on this Gen Ex lady-journey to a gentler place. I was raised to be a hunter; hungry, nearly blindly ambitious, always striving to get ahead.

And in the very short term this mentality brought me success.  But also it brought me exhaustion, overwhelm, and the constant need to be looking to and for the next thing. I was never quite present or grounded where I was.  And that feeling always left me wanting.

I flatter myself to think I’m starting to farm now. First and foremost, I’m crushing the plaid shirts (so glad they’re back in this year – at least I think they are!). But more importantly, I’m taking strategic pauses, scanning the lay of the land, and asking myself what I’m hoping to grow.

For me, hunting was getting up every day at 5 am, commuting 90 minutes to work, leaving my kids in the care of others, rocking meetings, presentations and projects, showing up exhausted at the end of the day, and questioning none of it.

A hunter is primal – she doesn’t ask why. She just attacks.

And I don’t mean to imply hunting was without its merits. It left me feeling competent and capable – great performance reviews and regular promotions feel really good. There was the paycheck, the wardrobe, the sense of importance… all of that was real for me.

But what I was lacking – I realize in hindsight (the view in which, of course, all of my most insightful conclusions appear) was the sense of purpose – the sense of “for what?”

To be clear, I harbor ZERO judgment of anyone who leaves their children in the care of others (out of either necessity or choice) versus staying at home and doing 100% of the rearing. My kids were safe, building character, friendships and a whole lot of immunity we’ve come to enjoy in their bigger kid years!

But for me, if they’d ever asked what was so important that I had to be gone 12 hours a day running around like a headless chicken, I’m not sure what I would have told them.

I also want to be clear in acknowledging my privilege. More on that in another piece – but for now I’ll just say I had a choice. Not everyone does. And for that I’m eternally grateful.

Now in this farming chapter, I’m feeling more balanced, whole, and intentional. And it feels good. I take some projects and leave others. I work some days, not others. I volunteer for elementary school library and then lead a virtual corporate leadership session.

Precisely what veggies am I growing at present? Well, if I’m honest, I’m not sure. But they’ll be organic and delicious and totally homegrown. And for now, that’s good enough for me.

At twenty-five I had a Masters Degree (with all associated debt), a NYC apartment in which three small people could stand at one time, a blossoming career, and an unshakable ambition to have a cush C-level job by 35.

And at 35, I had a husband and 2 kiddos, a commute from the burbs, constant low-grade anxiety, and generally all the Advil in my purse on any given day.

I knew something had to give. But the thought of letting go of that 25-year-old’s aspirations felt unthinkable.

After all, there’d been RBG; Sheryl Sandberg, Marissa Mayer, Arianna Huffington… all of these women leaning in, shattering ceilings, paving the way for the likes of me – didn’t I owe it to them? Didn’t I owe it to me to keep on keeping on?

I saw other women around me “opting out” of the rat race in service of raising their children – seemingly finding fulfillment and contentment in being present, running carpools and bake sales. I bore no judgment of those women – I just didn’t see myself in their circles.

But nor did I see myself continuing on the journey toward the top of the org chart.

When I thought about backing off, all I could envision was the look of judgment, of disappointment on that 25-year-old’s face. What had she worked so hard for?

That judgment sat with me for quite some time. I tried to negotiate, to argue, to rationalize – but nothing softened her unwrinkled face full of shame.

But ultimately what I came to realize was this: the younger version of me may have had dreams, ambitions, and plans – but what she lacked entirely was perspective, a sense of wholeness, and the ability to step back and ask “to what end?”

In my thirty-fifth year and beyond (and yes, to date there have been several beyond) I found my nerve to stand up to and ultimately make peace with the younger me. I’ve failed neither her nor her ambitions – I’ve simply grown a bigger life. There are more pieces to fit into the pie, and I want to do them all justice.

I want a career, and I’m proud of the balanced one I have today. But I also want it to work in tandem with the time I spend as a mom, wife, community member, meditator, exerciser, you get the picture.

We all likely have earlier versions of ourselves we might believe we’ve failed. But if you haven’t done so yet, look her in the eye and help her to find the perspective your wiser self has discovered.

Making peace with the younger you will serve you in spades