The optimism of the young and the cynicism of the middle-aged

When I was out and about the other day I overheard two young shop assistants discussing their futures. They were talking about the degrees that they were currently studying for and how much they were looking forward to joining the world of work. One of them was hoping to enter the publishing industry, working with art books (her degree was in history of art, I think). “I just love the look and feel of those books,” she said. She sounded so excited, so enthusiastic, so full of energy.

I wonder what happens to us in middle age? Of course, some people still love their jobs, but many (at least those who I know) do not. Work is a means to earning money, to maintaining a certain standard of living, but the day-to-day grind is, well...a grind. I spent many years working in the publishing industry (and still freelance in the field). The work is fine, but certainly not glamorous. The reality is all about the bottom line, rather than the books, trying to get as much done with as little resource as possible. It’s much the same in most industries today, I think.

I look at the up-and-coming generation with awe. My oldest daughter is a case in point. She already, at the age of twelve, knows what she wants to do career-wise. And she is enthusiastic, articulate, confident, as are all her friends. I just don’t remember my own generation possessing such maturity and poise at such a young age. As middle-aged parents we need to be careful not to dampen our children’s spirits, not to tarnish their optimism with our cynicism.

Worry -- a symptom of middle age?

I spend an awful lot of my time worrying. About work. About my career. About my elderly relatives. I know that this worrying is all pretty pointless. I work hard. I dedicate as much time as I can to my family. I know that I've done pretty well career-wise as well as relationship-wise. And worrying won't change anything.

But this is me being rational. And the funny thing is that I can be rational; I can stand outside myself and know perfectly well that it is pointless to worry. I can tell myself that. But none of this actually stops me turning the things that concern me over in my mind.

Interestingly, I don't remember worrying to such an extent when I was younger, in my twenties. In fact, back then, I thought I could do anything, achieve anything -- and I did, with very little angst.

I wonder, then, whether worrying is symptomatic of middle age. After all, I'm now in my mid-forties. Perhaps all this angst is what defines a mid-life crisis.

Maybe as I move towards older age, my worry levels will decrease. But I was speaking to my aunt, who is in her eighties, the other day -- and she said that she, too, worries about anything and everything. Yet she comes across as utterly calm and collected -- and people frequently tell me that this is how I appear too.

I suppose everyone worries -- it's just a case of how clever one is at hiding it.