What exactly is a midlife crisis? Is there an age requirement? Do you have to be somewhere between forty and sixty? Do you get a letter in the mail welcoming you into the club? Is there a checklist? “Congratulations! You’ve unlocked existential dread.”

But what if you’re too young? Is that called a quarter-life crisis? What if you’re older? A three-quarter-life crisis? Is that even a thing?

Apparently, according to Google, a midlife crisis is a period of deep self-reflection, emotional turbulence, and reevaluating where you are compared to where you thought you’d be. It often happens somewhere between the ages of forty and sixty, when reality collides with expectation. It’s the moment you begin asking questions about your career, your relationships, your accomplishments, your purpose, and the fact that time is no longer something that feels unlimited.

Reading that made me laugh. Not because it was wrong. Because I thought… “Wait… does this mean I’ve been having a midlife crisis my entire life?”

These aren’t new questions for me. They’ve always been there. Am I happy? Am I where I thought I’d be? Have I reached my full potential? Am I fulfilled? What is the meaning of life? Why do we have π? Not pie, the delicious kind. π, the mathematical constant that somehow never ends. Will I ever reach the end of a rainbow? Will I ever find a mermaid? Will I ever wake up in an isekai? Will I ever write a book?

Some of those questions are profound. Some are ridiculous. Some are both. But every single one has something in common. Most of the time, the answer feels like… “No.”

No, I haven’t reached all my goals.

No, I haven’t traveled everywhere I want to.

No, I haven’t written the book sitting quietly in the back of my mind.

No, I haven’t discovered a hidden underwater kingdom full of mermaids. (I’m still holding out hope on that one.)

At first, those “no’s” seem harmless. Then they start multiplying. One becomes five. Five becomes twenty. Eventually, it’s all you can see. The word NO gets louder and louder until it drowns out everything else. You begin convincing yourself that you haven’t really lived. That you’ve wasted time. That you’ve missed your chance. That somehow everyone else received an instruction manual you never got.

And panic quietly settles into your chest. Not because your life is over. Because you’re afraid it hasn’t really begun. It’s an exhausting place to be. The strange thing about panic is that it has terrible eyesight. It only sees what isn’t there. It never notices what is. It doesn’t count the people you’ve loved. The obstacles you’ve survived. The skills you’ve learned. The kindness you’ve given. The quiet victories no one applauded because they happened behind closed doors. It certainly doesn’t celebrate the dreams you’ve already accomplished simply because they arrived wearing different clothes than you expected.

Maybe that’s the part we forget. Dreams evolve. When I was younger, maybe I imagined writing a book. One story. One finished manuscript sitting proudly on a shelf. But what if life takes a different route? What if instead of one book, I someday create an entire series? Ten books. Stories that become part of someone else’s life. Stories that inspire art, conversations, maybe even movies or games.

The original dream didn’t disappear. It grew. Sometimes we become so attached to the exact picture we painted years ago that we fail to notice we’re still walking toward the same destination- just by a different road. Maybe fulfillment isn’t about checking every box we wrote when we were twenty. Maybe it’s about allowing ourselves permission to redraw the list.

To dream bigger.

Or smaller.

Or differently.

To realize that the person writing today’s goals isn’t the same person who wrote yesterday’s. And that’s okay. Growth changes us. Experience changes us. Life changes us. Maybe that’s not failure. Maybe that’s exactly what’s supposed to happen. I don’t think we give ourselves enough credit.

We’re so busy measuring ourselves against an imaginary finish line that we forget to appreciate how far we’ve already traveled. We’re quick to celebrate everyone else’s milestones while quietly dismissing our own.

“I only…”

“I just…”

“It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

Except it was. Maybe getting out of bed was the victory. Maybe asking for help was the victory. Maybe starting over was the victory. Maybe surviving was the victory. Not every accomplishment comes with applause. Some simply come with another sunrise.

So…

Is this a midlife crisis?

A quarter-life crisis?

A three-quarter-life crisis?

Or is this simply what it means to be human?

Maybe all of us, regardless of age, occasionally stop, look around, and wonder if we’re enough. Maybe we all question whether we’re making the most of the time we’ve been given. Maybe that’s not a crisis. Maybe that’s an invitation. An invitation to pause. To breathe. To stop counting the “no’s” for just a moment. And start noticing the “yes.”

Yes, you’ve survived things you once believed would break you.

Yes, you’ve learned.

Yes, you’ve grown.

Yes, you’ve loved.

Yes, you’ve changed.

Yes, you’ve kept going.

Life is already difficult enough without becoming your own harshest critic. Give yourself the grace you so freely give everyone else. Your story isn’t over.

There are still books to write.

Rainbows to chase.

Questions to ask.

Dreams to reshape.

And who knows…

Maybe there’s still a mermaid out there waiting to prove me right.

-Bella Imperia

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