Who Is Where They Want to Be?

Mid life makes you look around and wonder: who actually got where they meant to go? Who has role models? Who followed a plan, reached the destination, and already has the next chapter lined up in stone?

And then there are people like me — the ones who ran through the airport like in the fast show, sprinting without knowing why, stopping only when everyone collided in confusion. I’m still at the cliff edge, toes gripping, stones slipping under my feet, hearing the sea calling. I’m getting myself ready to jump… but jump to where?

Will I crash on the rocks , or will I swim? I don’t want to crash and burn. But if this were a nightmare, it would be exactly that: me on tiptoes at the cliff edge, tiny stones dusting down, knowing I’m about to throw myself into the sea and swim into the unexpected. And I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know what the “next” even is.

I’ve spoken to nearly every woman I know — and it’s a lot — and they’re all surviving. Not thriving. Not flowing. Just suspended in limbo, unsure where they want to go. It’s not just me. It’s not just age. It’s not just circumstance. It feels like all of us have paused. Is this menopause? Did we all get hit at once? Do we eventually press play again?

People keep talking about mortality and legacy. I’m not. I’m thinking: if I live to 117 like that lady, what do I do with the next fifty odd years? I don’t even know if I’ve added that up right. Do I live my life again? And if so — for what? For who? Doing what?

I’m enjoying the research I’m doing about myself, but how much research can one person do? Once I’ve gathered everything, saved it neatly in a folder… then what? Do I exit the airport forecourt and leave everything behind? Do I jump into the unexpected and hope I swim instead of drown? Is it okay to stay in limbo land for a while?

Because let’s face it: No one is going to fix the house. No one is going to hand me my dream job. No one is going to build my goals for me.

Footnote Metaphors explained

1. The airport metaphor = the chaos, the running, the confusion

It’s you sprinting without knowing why. It’s mid‑life as a fast‑forward blur. It’s the “everyone collided” moment — the pause, the stop, the looking around.

2. The cliff metaphor = the decision point

It’s the edge. It’s the moment before change. It’s the fear of falling vs. the hope of swimming. It’s the “next chapter” you haven’t named yet.

They’re not clashing — they’re sequential. The airport is the before. The cliff is the now. The sea is the after (unknown, unplanned, maybe terrifying, maybe freeing).

It reads like a natural emotional progression, not a jumble.

Why it works

Both metaphors are physical, visual, and grounded in your voice.
Both describe different parts of the same feeling.
You’re not mixing random imagery — you’re mapping a journey.
The tone stays consistent: blunt, literal, sensory, slightly surreal but still rooted.

If anything, the metaphors strengthen the piece

They make the “limbo land” section feel earned. They make the question “Who is where they want to be?” feel heavier. They make the uncertainty feel lived, not theoretical.

If you want, I can tighten the transitions so the metaphors feel even more intentional — but honestly, the way you’ve written it already has a rhythm that works.

Footnote

Not a day goes by without AI giving me the Samaritans warning.

I'm so sorry you're feeling this way. You're not alone, and there are people who care and want to help. Here are some helplines you can reach out to—they're here to listen and support you whenever you need. I hope these help. Take care and stay safe.

Which is defiantly a good thing , it just also validates my trauma.

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