WISDOM

Beware Middle-Aged Ladies Spouting Startling Truths

There has to be more to life than ‘the little things,’ right?

Photo by Sofia on Unsplash

What is it with middle-aged people dropping kernels of wisdom, lobbing little truth-bombs into your life and taking the wind out of your sails?

And they’re just so darn good at it! Like it’s a birthright.

I should know — I’m now one of those wizened middle-aged dudes, myself.

But back in 1995? Baby, I was hot stuff. Makin’ plans and goin’ places. My best friend Daneen and I, both recent college graduates, were engaging in a brainstorm-bullshitting session in her mother’s kitchen. Daneen and her mom had an unconventional relationship (to my eyes), and this woman who’d given birth to her was simply known as “Jane” to us.

Okay, so Jane was there, in her own kitchen, dressed as-always in black, listening to we two youngsters. We were talking about our big plans. Our dreams and goals! There were so many. After all, we were 22, the world was our oyster, and we didn’t want to screw it up.

What we did for work needed to matter. We wanted to travel. As an actor, I was going to be part of the New York scene, to do Broadway. Daneen wanted to find contentment through work and the secret of life. We were so young, but we didn’t feel young. After all, we’d just been through 17 years of school. It was time to step into the huge unknown.

So many opportunities. So many directions in which we could go. Oh, but to get the ideal careers. To create something artistic and meaningful! That was the ticket. There were lists to be made. Ladders of goals to ascend. Material treasures to acquire — the home, the car, the expense account. And oh, so many injustices to fight. How could we address the mountains of unfairness and find our place, our niche, our contribution?!?

And then, from the side of the kitchen, tea mug in hand, Jane’s spoke:

“Okay. That’s fine. But um… really? The best things in life? They’re the little things. Like a cup of coffee and some quiet time in the morning. A nice walk. A good meal with friends.” Jane shrugged. “That’s what life is about. It comes down to the little things.” Then she drifted out of the room.

Cue the loud-fart tuba sound.

Well thank you, Debbie Downer for bringing your knitting needles to burst our every bubble! It was as if Eeyore, the lowkey donkey from Winnie the Pooh, had lifted a leg and taken a leak on our enthusiasm.

We rolled our eyes so hard it’s a miracle they didn’t get stuck up there behind our foreheads. Oh puh-leaze!! we thought. How sad. How utterly pathetic. A freakin’ cup of coffee on a Saturday morning?!? A walk with friends? Is that all life could offer? Is that all we had to look forward to?

Oh hell, no, we thought. This poor woman was in her mid-40s and had already settled. The poor dear had given up and was clinging onto pathetic crumbs in the possible banquet of life. I literally considered finding Jane in the next room and giving her a life-reaffirming hug or a pat on the head.

“Well that’s just terribly sad,” Daneen said. “There better be more to life than just the pathetic ‘little things.’” We nodded like coconspirators. We scoffed. There was going to be passion. Sex! Intrigue!! Forget Jane and her boo-hoo philosophy. We were going to grab the brass ring. We were going to make our mark, dammit.

Youthful enthusiasm is so gloriously beautiful. When I witness it nowadays it can still bring an emotional catch in my throat. All that energy and belief, it’s magical and radiant. It’s as it should be.

Daneen and I did go out into the world to “do our thing.” We went for it and we put up the good fight. But these days, at least twice a year, I’m whooshed back to Jane’s kitchen and I hear that proclamation spilling from her lips.

She wasn’t telling us to settle. She wasn’t kicking our dreams to the curb. She had arrived at that Wondrous World of Middle Age with all of its wisdom. She knew the energy-sucks of the world and the things she’d no longer give her attention to. What she’d no longer care about. And what she’d protect with all of her might.

The little things.

Just last week, in my own living space — and now inexplicably older than Jane was then — I had to nod my head in recognition of her statement.

My life partner and I recently landed into an ideal living arrangement and I was experiencing another “magical day.”

Sunshine streamed through the shutters. Cookies were baking in the oven. My beautiful Eddie was in the other room being creative and sketching out his latest art project. I was stationed at the dining room table, hammering out another essay, warm coffee at my side. Soft and pleasant music floated through our home. The television, though muted, played professional tennis matches in the background so we could glance up and watch.

How was this my life? Two guys, both lucky enough to be engaged in the act of creation at the same time. Existing in a safe and beautiful environment, surrounded by music, delicious aromas and a feeling of authenticity.

When I was younger, did I ever picture achieving such contentment, such knowing? Such love? To being satisfied with something so “simple” as an afternoon of creation and togetherness? Anyone younger might find it boring. A waste of free time. A life that’s too predictable. Perhaps pathetic?

But Jane wouldn’t. Jane knew.

Looking around currently, the world is falling apart. I could point you to 9,000 ways in which human existence sucks. Conflicts rage on. Oppressors oppress, grifters grift and extractors extract. Bucketloads of energy are required daily just to regulate emotions and protect mental health. And believe it or not, I still have projects, dreams, goals and aspirations.

I can point to so many highlights in my adulthood — the travels to Europe, the theater productions, the unexpected athletic highs and the joys of finding love and discovering writing. These will never be forgotten.

But the glue? The mortar of my present adulthood? The quiet hum that buzzes beneath the daily chaos? It’s the unexpected easy days when I’m vibrating artistically, with nowhere to go, taking in good music or artistry and realizing, Whoa, this is exactly where I want to be. How did I get so lucky?

Despite all the goals checked off the list, the accomplishments attained, when I’m older, when I’m on my deathbed, I think it’s the general sense of the good days lived, the little things, that’ll hover there like a blanket of satisfaction and comfort.

Some will see that as a cop-out. A coping mechanism that’s too generic. Perhaps. But wherever she is on this planet, I’m tipping my hat to Jane, with her mug of tea in hand, just trying to tell a couple of dreamers the secret to getting through life satisfied and a little less bruised and beaten. It’s been a joy to spend recent years realizing she was right.

This is Jane. See Jane run… toward the little things.

©2026 Joe Guay | All Rights Reserved

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