The perk of a midlife crisis — an honest ACT II

By Sharan Saikumar One foggy morning in January, Swati Srivastava, a 30-something ad executive, was brushing her teeth when she realised with crystal clarity that she was never going to make it to creative director of her agency. On the heels of that realisation, came another — she didn’t want to be creative director of her agency. By the time she had finished rinsing her mouth, she was faced with the Big Question: Does she want to make the increased market share of boot polish in western India her life’s achievement? Different versions of this question are being asked by women in their thirties and forties all over the world as they struggle with an overwhelming sense of futility about their jobs. Lesley Jane Seymour, More magazine’s editor-in-chief, says, “Since the 1970s, women have poured into the American workplace – and now we’re at a crossroads.” A study done by the magazine said 43 percent of women are less ambitious than they were 10 years ago and that three out of four don’t want their boss’ job. These women have worked hard for a decade or more at their careers only to be caught off guard one foggy morning while they are still in their pajamas. They, like Swati, are prime candidates to begin Act II of their lives. [caption id=“attachment_179083” align=“alignleft” width=“380”]  It’s only in midlife, after the hormonal ride of our teenage years and the mindless ambition of our twenties that we tend to reflect on the gap between the reality of our lives and the dreams we once had. Reuters[/caption] Act II. Starting over. That’s what second careers are about. The first one, the one they went chasing with a college degree in hand, was about stroking their ego, proving their equality. This one is about hitting their id, the basic drive, the pure energy they lost touch with as they grew up and grew worldly. This growing tribe of disillusioned urban women, who got tired of being constantly rated on the twin scales of Domestic Goddess & Bitch Boss, decided to grab fulfillment at it’s ankles for their last shot at redemption. Laughed off often as a midlife crisis best solved by having an affair or buying a red motorbike, this existential angst is actually evolutionary in nature. Maslow put it right up there in his hierarchy as self actualisation. It’s the tip of the famous triangle and we come to it when we are done with the essentials: the perfect man, beautiful kids, a terraced house, a D-segment car and a lifetime membership of the DVD library. And wham! By the time we are done with this checklist, we’ve got grey. We are officially middle-aged. It’s only in midlife, after the hormonal ride of our teenage years and the mindless ambition of our twenties that we tend to reflect on the gap between the reality of our lives and the dreams we once had. This reflection usually ends with a profound question that Samsung blithely flung at us: “Next is what?” And when the big question comes calling, there are no small answers. The answers are usually big, fat and unexpected. Carl Jung said that the successful resolution of this crisis leaves you with only two options — spirituality or vocation. Both may sound dangerously nun-like, but are not. Spirituality doesn’t necessarily mean heading to the hills; it often translates into a more benevolent, less capitalistic line of work. Shweta Chari took a break from web developing to start Toybank, a modern day Robinhood service that takes used toys from the rich and redistributes it to the poor. As did Mita, who started teaching street kids instead of training corporate idiots. Swati, however, chose vocation. As did Gunjan Khaitan. Having given up her technology marketing job, Gunjan started The Orange Bicycle, a kitsch shop in Bangalore, while Swati sold off her SUV and her condo in Dubai and flew to Mumbai to work as an assistant director in Bollywood. If you are planning to follow suit anytime soon, do remember that words like midlife crisis and existential angst are luxuries only the well-heeled can afford. Passion rarely does pay. Which is probably why so many of its victims are women. Behind every woman who gives up her BlackBerry, there has to be a man who is chained to his. But if he’s happy in his chains and loves his corner office, then go on and ask the world to take their seats, because Ladies & Gentlemen, Act II is about to begin. As a blogger, ex-marketer, evangelist of socialfootprint.in and would-be novelist, Sharan Saikumar wears many hats, none of which really fit.