The Myth of Being “Done” (and Why I Don't Buy It)

Because life doesn’t come with an expiration date, no matter what society tells you

Expiration Date – Rendered by the author in Midjourney

By now, we're all pretty familiar with the unspoken cultural norm that says once you reach a certain age, life quietly rolls down the shutters on you, whether you're ready or not. The fun is supposed to be over. You’re no longer “the target demographic,” no longer the shiny thing in the spotlight. If life were a high school cafeteria, you’ve basically been quietly reassigned to the side table with the wilted salad at that point.

Naturally, no one really says any of this out loud (except when they do). It’s more in the way advertising pivots away from you, in the roles women are offered in movies, in the slightly pitying tone people use when they say things like, “Well, at least you don’t have to worry about all that anymore.” The underlying meaning is that your days of being alive-alive are over, so please enjoy your new hobbies — couponing, knitting, and hoping for grandkids.

Well, I'm here to tell that that’s nonsense.

The Myth of Being "Done"

If you’re a woman, especially, you’ve probably already felt it, even if you're still young. It's like someone stamps this social expiration date across your forehead at some point in your 30s or 40s. By then, apparently, your best hair days are behind you, your skin is now public property for retinol marketing campaigns, and if you still want to feel attractive or adventurous? Well, that’s honestly seen as kind of sad.

But here’s the thing that I've personally noticed. The desire to feel beautiful or alive doesn't necessarily go away. Society just keeps telling you it should. Like, “Thanks for playing, we’ll take it from here. Go sit down.” And it’s maddening.

It's also problematic because we eventually start to absorb those messages and believe them. Even people who don’t consciously subscribe to the idea that fun, beauty, and vitality are youth-only clubs can still feel it creeping in. Even people like me, who've never really valued social norms or cared about meeting them. That gnawing little whisper inside: 

"Maybe it really is over. Maybe I’ve already had my shot at life."

But then something happens.

The Art of Doing Nothing (With a Little Help from Slacker)

Slacker - Richard Linklater (1990) Courtesy of Orion Classics

It's really no secret that most of us are taught to fear doing nothing. Idleness is suspicious. Productivity is the religion of the day. So, if you’re not grinding, optimizing, or “getting ahead” every second of every day, then what are you even doing with your life?

Me? I’ve always been on the other side of that equation. If ambition meant taking a straight shot across the field with a touchdown in mind, I would have been the person wandering around the edges, looking at dandelions and clouds instead. And for most of my life, I was told that made me a failure. A slacker.

Which is probably why finally getting a chance to sit down and check out Richard Linklater’s Slacker a couple of weeks ago – decades after it came out – felt like such a strange kind of homecoming.

Doing Nothing, Cinematically

If you’ve never seen it, here’s the gist. Slacker doesn’t really have a plot or any big, hairy point it's trying to make. There's no main character, no grand growth arc, no traditional payoff. It just drifts through a day in Austin, Texas, following one character until another wanders into frame a few minutes later, then shifting focus.

Most of the characters (if you can call them that) are, by conventional standards, “doing nothing.” They’re rambling about conspiracies, fiddling with art projects, spontaneously philosophizing, waiting for God only knows what, hanging out, talking about whatever. None of them are rushing to work or thinking about how they're going to reach that next rung on the corporate ladder.

And yet... it’s alive. Very much so. The whole film hums with this strange electricity, like the air between two people at 2 AM when you’ve both wandered way too far off the map of ordinary conversation.

It’s a movie that says, maybe nothing is something... if you look closely enough.

Where Are the Stories for the Rest of Us?

Why culture forgets us once we’re past our “prime," and why we’re not done yet

Earlier, I was scrolling through our extensive list of beloved movies to find something to put on in the background while I wrote today. A very specific thought popped into my head (and not for the first time). Maybe it's popped into yours before, as well, especially if you're old enough to have ever felt old a time or two before.

Have you ever noticed how almost every big, beautiful, culture-defining story seems to revolve around someone under the age of 30?

Books, movies, myths, quests, revolutions, coming-of-age dramas, mind-bending sci-fi, even the weird cult classics we pass around like secret candy – all starring people in their teens or twenties. Sometimes very early twenties. Occasionally, you might stumble across a “grizzled” 35-year-old, which is code for "already spiritually retired."

And I get it. Youth makes for juicy storytelling. It’s a time of life that's alive with epic firsts. First love. First heartbreak. First existential crisis. First realization that your parents don’t actually know what they’re doing. First world-class fuck-up. There's intensity, discovery, and mistakes with consequences. It's all very cinematic.

But as someone who's solidly not in her twenties anymore, I’ve found myself wondering more and more often:

What happens to the rest of us?

Do we just... fade into the background? Is it truly our job now to become quirky supporting characters or stoic mentors? Are we no longer allowed to burn things down and start over? Make epically bad decisions? Discover something about ourselves so transformative that it sends us into a new chapter of life?

Or do amazing things like that only happen when your skin still has collagen and your student loan grace period hasn’t ended yet?

When Time Stops Pretending It Was Gentle

The funny thing about aging is that you never actually feel time pass. You feel the things that occupy your consciousness for the most part, instead –– love, frustration, desire, and fatigue. You feel small but important details, like your favorite meals, the way your hair still won't behave in the humidity, and the weight of your favorite jacket on your shoulders. 

Then one day, you open a photo album or an old digital folder. You're instantly given pause. If you were a character in a movie, this is totally the moment where you'd hear that record scratch noise. 

Because a photo does a lot more than just show you what you looked like at a particular point in time. It shows you what you used to be... and it shows you what you no longer are, as well. You may see shades of who you’ve grown into and what you’ve had to let go of to get where you are. You remember the hopes you had in that moment that didn’t quite play out. The joy you didn’t realize you radiated. The pain you masked with a smile you now recognize as a little too careful.

That’s the strange power of still images in action. In a way, they actually collapse time. You go from experiencing subtle, unnoticeable change on a day-to-day basis to staring straight into the unfiltered truth of who you once were. And suddenly, all that change feels immediate. It's sharp, and sometimes even a little cruel.

My mother reminded me of an old photo from my 20s a while ago

It was from when I first got together with my partner 20 years ago, and just the experience of looking at it felt weird. It made me realize that while I reflect on my 20s a lot, I rarely actually see them with total clarity.

But there she was in the picture –– a completely different version of me, even though I would have told you five minutes before that moment that I hadn't changed that much. 

The hair I've always dyed red was five shades darker, because the hair underneath hadn't gone white yet. I hadn't truly noticed it getting lighter over the years because of the dye, but it really had. My skin was smoother, and my eyes were brighter. I definitely wished I were still as "fat" now as I know I thought I was back then. 

But what struck me most wasn’t what was different physically. It was more the emotional differences I knew were there by looking at things like my posture and my facial expression.

There was a kind of unearned certainty in Other Shannon's face. An undamaged expectation that life would be fair, and decent, and good from then on, because that's what the movies tell you is supposed to happen when you're young, smart, and pretty. She was totally confident that some big, beautiful future was not only possible, but inevitable. 

On Changing Perspectives as We Age and News Break

We've been really into stories about kings and queens lately, so we've most recently been rewatching The Tudors. I'm also repeatedly reminded of how differently I can process stories and characters as I age. As someone who loved history growing up, especially the history of medieval England, I always found the stories about Henry VIII and all of his wives especially intriguing. In particular, I was absolutely nuts about Anne Boleyn.

The younger me related deeply to Anne because I saw myself in her. I loved how outspoken and opinionated she was. I liked that although she didn't necessarily fit the beauty standards of the time, she managed to go down in history as a beauty anyway. I loved that she didn't place "sensible" limits on what she thought she could achieve. For instance, it never even occurred to her that wanting to be queen was reaching too high. She made up her mind that she wanted it, and she got it. 

And, of course, Catherine of Aragon -- the sitting queen and Henry's wife -- was on the other side of that equation. She was older and infertile. Henry loved her once but grew tired of her. She was in the way of what he really wanted -- to have Anne as his wife instead -- and she became highly inconvenient because of that fact. Never mind that she was a wonderful queen and beloved by the people of England. The younger me didn't particularly like Catherine. I remember thinking she should be less stubborn, accept that Henry didn't want her anymore, and step aside gracefully so Anne could be queen. 

Having not read or watched anything about the Tudors in some time, that whole story hits entirely differently now that I'm in my 40s. Anne scans like a spoiled little brat who needed to stay in her lane and not go after things that didn't belong to her. And Catherine comes across as good, decent, admirable, and deserving of so much better than she got. I still found the death of Anne Boleyn to be horribly tragic, but that's about it. Don't even get me started on how Henry VIII was just an awful person and a blight on humanity in many different ways.

Demons, and Thoughts, and Demons, and Thoughts

I do not, and likely never will understand people. In particular, I don't understand how two-faced they can be. How they can tell you they feel one way about you to your face and then cut you up behind your back when they talk about you in private to others. I used to feel like this was simply a running theme in my own life for reasons I didn't understand -- attracting unusually disloyal people who talk shit about people whenever it suits them, but now I'm beginning to wonder if maybe this is just a problem with everyone, every person.

And if it is -- that this kind of disloyalty is just human nature -- how seriously should I take it? How much do people mean the things they say about someone they care about when they're busy complaining about them and shitting on them to others? Are they just venting their frustrations to avoid taking it out on the person, or should it be taken as evidence that they don't actually care after all?

To me, that has always been such a serious thing, as well as one of the first signs I felt I had that someone in my life is probably not there for the right reasons and that I should reconsider their continued presence in my life. In many cases, it was the end of my trust in that person, not to mention the beginning of the end of my love for them. I tend to feel like that sort of thing -- how you're discussed when people think you can't hear or won't find out -- is a window into how others truly feel about you, and that you would do well to pay attention to what you learn.

I rarely like what I learn about others when I become privy to such information. I rarely catch them sticking up for me, defending me, or telling others how grateful they are for all I do for them the way they claim to do. It always turns out to be them complaining about me, bitching about the way I am, whining about how much they feel they have to put up with because of me.

Not Just Another Bloody Mary

"Sea of Thoughts" -- Lindsay Rapp

Why do I do this -- forget about regularly hashing out my thoughts and recording my life in a format more substantial than a tweet or a Facebook status update? It's my knee-jerk reaction to say I've just gotten too lazy about my personal writing, but there are other times where I'm aware that maybe I just don't "need" journaling to the same extent I used to. I may finally be growing up in a way I once thought I never could or would. A possibility that is both wonderful and sad all at the same time.

Since I last updated this past March, my life has continued along the same path for better or worse. Things are still very much the same with my mother, her health, and her apparent lack of desire to regain her independence. That depresses me deeply, if I'm going to be very honest. So many people would have loved to receive the second chance she got, but will never get it. Meanwhile, she's just wasting hers. Growing fatter, lazier, and more complacent by the day. No effort made to repair anything in her life, including all of her broken relationships.

I'm still working very hard to be different from that. When I was a little girl, I used to look forward to summer vacations just like every other kid. However, I loved spending mine improving myself for some reason. Summers were a time for me to see how many books I could read, draw all the pictures I could, learn new symphonies on the piano, and undertake all sorts of fun little personal writing projects. Lately, I feel like I'm that little girl again, only all of the time, as opposed to just over the summers. I'm voraciously hungry for self-improvement again, and I am loving every second of it. Especially since I can finally tackle all these little challenges I set for myself with the focus of a 40-something. It's a really interesting combination of energies and one that is very new to me.

On Aging, Choices, and Other Monsters

When I hear people talk about whatever they think is wrong with their lives, it always seems to be about boredom to one degree or another. They want something to happen. They want to feel like their lives are exciting and full of action. They want to feel like they matter to other people -- that they're important.

I'm the opposite. I usually feel like too much is going on even though my "too much" often looks a whole lot like other people's "not much". I feel like I have too much to worry about and too many responsibilities. I also often feel like I matter too much to others and in all the wrong ways -- that too many people count on me for too many things I'm not really equipped to provide. Only those that know me well enough to know how resentful I become when I don't feel like the things I do are noticed or appreciated remember to thank me often enough. Most don't thank me at all, let alone return the favor ever. In other words, I get very little back out of life considering what I put into it at times and that feels almost unbearably unfair.

I'm also noticing that the older I get without any of that changing, the more important money seems to become to me. Not just any money either -- my money. Money I earn under my own power doing things I'm good at. As much as I don't like not having a choice about whether or not I work, I very much enjoy making money. I especially like that I'm in business for myself. I don't have a boss. I get to call all the shots 100% of the time. I don't have employees or business partners either, so I get to take 100% of the credit for everything I've accomplished from a business standpoint. It's a neat feeling -- indulgently selfish in a way I don't get to be when it comes to any other area of my life.

Writing Lab: Tell or Be Told

Prompt: "Do you like to observe things for yourself, or do you prefer people to tell you things?"

I prefer to observe things for myself. I don't trust other people's ability to be observant enough to paint an accurate picture of something that's happened. I really don't trust others not to embellish or twist facts to suit agendas of their own. Far too many people get creative when telling stories because they want to look like a hero or seem better than they actually are.

When I really want or need to know something specific, I probably don't have the time or the patience to sort through whatever was said and make guesses as to how much of it was bullshit. I want to know the facts so I can get right to work making decisions, writing articles, or whatever else I may be looking to do based on the situation. If I do my own homework and make my own observations, I never have to doubt the reality of the situation, as I trust myself implicitly.

My Nipples Don't Need Your Help

So I had another "I totally feel 40" moment earlier. I woke up this morning to an Instagram message from some chick. She was apparently one of the many women you run into on social media these days that claim to be feminists fighting for social justice and all that. Her account was one of those "free the nipple" deals. She was actually messaging me to request a submission. You know, so I can do my part to fight for women's equality.

Why she approached me of all people, I don't know. I have a profile picture up on Instagram and I will very, very occasionally post a selfie or something. But none of the photos I post are the type of thing that should lead anyone to believe I wouldn't mind showing a bunch of perfect strangers my tits. I use Instagram primarily to post pictures of the foods Seth and I cook. All I can figure is that this person took one look at me, saw that I was "alternative" looking (unnatural hair color with black clothes), and mistook me for someone a lot younger or more progressive than I actually am. It sure wouldn't be the first time. Whatever the reasons, I was honestly kind of offended, but not for the reasons most people would probably think. 

The Death and Taxes of It All

I feel like I'm going though another one of my phases -- the ones that are becoming more and more frequent these days. I already voluntarily avoid offline friendships, but I'm swiftly approaching the point where I don't care to have many online ones to speak of either. The vast majority of the people I used to think of as friends just bother me now. They all seem so ignorant, and silly, and stunted. They're all stuck in a place I managed to break free from years ago at this point... and I've always been something of a late bloomer, so that's really saying something.

None of them show the slightest little bit of interest in growing or evolving either and something about that honestly disgusts me. I've always wanted to be better than I was. All that's ever changed was my definition of what "better" meant. Somewhere along the line, it stopped meaning "be someone my parents like and approve of" and started meaning "be someone I like and approve of". Even now, I still want to be so much better and so much more. And I want to be surrounded by people like myself -- thinkers, artists. People that are more focused on improving themselves and less concerned with how they stack up to others around them.

On Faces

The interesting thing about faces is that they always tell you the truth of a given person, especially as that person ages. When a person smiles or laughs a lot, you can see it in the way their face has wrinkled, settled, or changed over the years. The same thing happens when a person does nothing but pout, and frown, and complain. The effect is most obvious in older people, but you can see it in young people as well.

I've known a lot of people that claim to be super positive, happy beings but aren't really that way in practice. If you didn't know any better from actually observing the realities of the person's life, you could look at the permanent pout burned into their face and see the truth. Same thing goes for people that may appear sour and depressive on the surface, but have faces that give away the fact that they actually laugh and smile a lot.

I'm realizing that I might be the second sort. Outwardly, I complain and bitch a lot. I would even say I see and describe myself as a brooding, pensive person for the most part. But when I step back and really admit how much I laugh and how often I smile -- how often I ultimately wind up seeing the best in something -- I realize that isn't actually accurate. And my face gives me away. I have the face of a happy, pleasant, inquisitive person even if I don't always feel like one.

Get Off My Lawn, Kids

I must be getting old. Like... seriously, I've officially reached the point where the way "kids today" go about existing on Planet Earth baffles me as badly as I'm sure my own lifestyle and value system baffled my parents or grandparents. 

I think the weirdest thing to me is the going attitude toward relationships today. It honestly seems as if everyone under the age of 50 considers an open relationship to be the way to go. Like it's some kind of punishment to be expected to actually be faithful to your mate. I've even heard people saying that they think it's abusive and selfish not to be OK with it if your partner wants to sleep with other people. 

Now... I've been the last thing from perfect in some of my past relationships. I've cheated on people before. I'm even relatively open about the fact that my relationship with Seth started while I was still married to Greg. However, I never actually saw that behavior as something that should be socially acceptable or that my exes should have freely allowed me to do. Ultimately, I wanted to be with someone that was not only 100% faithful to me, but that kept me happy enough for me to want to be the same. I fought for it and searched for it until I found it and it's amazing to know that I have another person that belongs to just me and that I belong to in return. I honestly feel bad for anyone that's willing to settle for anything short of that. That isn't a relationship at all as far as I'm concerned.