I’m thirty-eight (and three quarters) years old and oftentimes find myself wondering when, and how, that happened. Like many elder millennials, I struggle with accepting that the 1990s weren’t a decade ago and that the fashion cringes of my angsty youth are being ironically sported by hipsters as retro attire.

Seriously, how did I get here?

As I inch closer to 40, I’m finding myself evaluating everything that has led me to this point in my life. That sounds overly dramatic because, it is, but also because there has been so much cheer. I’m hashtag blessed to be married to my husband, Steven, going on four years. I’m so grateful for our relationship and the work we put into it, together. We have a good circle of friends and family. We travel. We watch bad reality TV. We like to experience new things together.

But, like many post-pandemic, I’ve been taking stock of what really matters and how I want to exist for whatever time I remain on this rock hurling around the sun. This is driven, in part, by standing on the sidelines as more of my peers navigate the lows of life; the grief of losing a parent or dealing with divorce and the division that follows. Alternatively, I’d be lying if I tried to say I was above the comparison and competitive emotions that multiply as I scroll past new baby announcements, homes purchased, and professional milestones checked off in my (extremely curated and not realistic) feeds.

I feel like I’m — we’re — getting left behind, but I don’t even know where we’re supposed to be going.

Professionally, I’ve been in a rut since the pandemic made it difficult to see my role as a fundraiser in higher education as anything but complicit in a broken system. I’m earning more annually, but taking home less in a new tax bracket. I want a job that affords more flexibility to travel and spend time with the people and places that bring me joy.

The pressure to figure it all out is further compounded by the last year of my life, which has been full of personal extremes.

• We entered our second year of infertility treatment under the care of Dr. Rachel Ashby of Newton-Wellesley Reproductive Medicine. It’s our second stop after Boston IVF declared they wouldn’t allow (read that again) me to conceive without a BMI under 35. (FYI: The BMI is bullshit.)

• I contracted COVID-19, which was both anxiety inducing and unpleasant. Thankfully, I made a full recovery.

• I took a girls trip with the sole purpose of tripping on mushrooms as we all ran away from our respective realities.

• We spontaneously conceived in June, against the odds due to my aforementioned age and history of polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) that’s led to type 2 diabetes.

• We traveled — our annual pilgrimage to the Jersey shore with family and friends did not disappoint. And our 10-days spent touring Israel were ife-changing.

• Steven is now running the edibles program at CommCann. He’s learning a ton, earning much deserved respect from his colleagues, and will soon launch two new product lines. I am so proud of him and what this means for our future dreams of establishing our own cannabrand.

• I was screened for ADHD and have never been more confused by or clear on the way I learn, process, and take in the world around me.

• We miscarried that unexpected, marvelous pregnancy at 7 weeks in August. It was physically painful. Two weeks later, our niece was born, giving way to celebratory and cruel emotions I didn’t realize could coexist all at once.

• Frustrated and feeling tossed back into purgatory, I started a 200-hr yoga teacher training program through Boston Yoga School as a way to immerse myself in a project all my own. When I graduate in April, it will lead to a tangible outcome — something that infertility (or life, really) never guarantees, no matter the investment of time or energy.

Apparently there isn’t a rest stop — or directions — on the road to midlife. Which is why these days I feel like I am careening into an inevitable, all out crisis as I search for an off-ramp to avoid the next stage that has been both a long time coming and taken me by complete surprise.

Since I’m navigating so much, all at once, I decided to document my experience as a creative outlet and coping mechanism. Follow along for content on infertility and IVF, turning the big 4–0, starting a cannabiz with my spouse, learning about living with neurodiversity as an adult, and yoga for all bodies and experience levels.

It’s a very mixed bag, and I’m hoping in that regard it will appeal to a part of you, at some point. At the very least this will be a sure source of entertainment, but my sincere hope is my musings will validate and reassure others. Especially those who also find themselves suddenly circling the intersection of not-quite-young and definitely-not-old, wondering where the hell they put their map.

I don’t think I’m the only one.

I can’t be the only one.

Am I?