i'm not having a Midlife Crisis. i’m having a Childhood Renaissance.

“I think I’m having a midlife crisis.”

This is something I’ve found myself saying to my friends in recent weeks. It sounds like I’m joking. But I’m not.

I’m not saying I’m going to rush out and buy a convertible or get a facelift tomorrow (although never say never), but I do find myself where I think most middle-aged (GOD, IS THAT TRUE? AM I MIDDLE-AGED?!) people eventually find themselves: Is this the life I want to keep living?

I don’t have a bad life. I have a whimsical, cozy apartment. I have a cat. I have good friends and family. I have a car that still works. I can still touch my toes.

But I started wondering: Is this the type of life I imagined for myself when I was a kid? Well, of course it wasn’t. When I was a kid, I thought I’d be a veterinarian. Then I found out that required more math and science—not to mention more blood—than I was comfortable with, so I did what any reasonable person would do: I chose the famously stable and predictable career path of the arts.

I was a playful kid—one who liked to put on plays. I loved being around animals (hence the futile veterinarian dream), and I loved writing stories. Which, yes, I guess you could say I still do.

But somewhere along the way, I stopped making time for play.

Maybe that’s what this really is. Not a midlife crisis. A play crisis.

I wake up. Work out. Write. Walk Bernie. Write some more. Go to yoga. Go to a different coffee shop to change things up. Watch some TV (right now it’s Widow’s Bay). Read. Go to bed before 10 p.m. Sometimes I play tennis.

This is the schedule of a grown-up. I know that.

But this summer, I found myself yearning for something less regimented. Less productive. More playful.

This actually reminds me of a summer project I did a few years ago called “Love Yourself a Little More This Summer,” which I wrote about here.

That project was more about acceptance. It was about learning how to be kinder to myself, to stop fighting who I was, and to make peace with the person I already was/am.

But this feels different.

This isn’t about learning to accept myself. It’s about remembering myself.

It’s about reconnecting with the parts of me that existed before adulthood taught me everything needed to have a purpose, a reason, or a measurable outcome. (because even my “love yourself a little more” summer had a plan and purpose and why oh why do we adults do that to ourselves?!)

So I made myself a promise: this summer, I was going to start doing the things I loved as a kid—not because they were useful or would make me a better person, but because they sounded fun.

First, I went horseback riding. I hadn’t been on a horse in years. Decades, actually. And somehow, I still remembered how to tack one up. Sliding on a bridle felt surprisingly natural. It all came rushing back to me. I had a lot of fun, even if Austin, my horse, was stubbornly slow, and that I discovered muscles in my inner thighs that had apparently been dormant since the ‘90s. Let’s just say I was sore in places that usually require a headboard to explain. Still, it was absolutely worth it, and I’m going on a trail ride in the mountains this weekend.

Then I decided to revisit the TV shows that defined my childhood.

Back in the day, I was a HUGE X-Files fan. So huge, in fact, that I belonged to a very OG internet fan club with its own chat room. I even had a pen pal named Nancy who, at one point, felt the need to clarify that she wasn’t gay because I kept signing off my messages, “Luv, Brie!”

(HA! Apparently this newsletter has very deep roots.)

So I started rewatching The X-Files. Watching Widow’s Bay has scratched that same itch, too—that spooky, slightly weird, monster-mystery television that I loved growing up.

I’ve also been revisiting the movies that made summers feel magical: Jurassic Park (RIP Sam Neill), the newer Ghostbusters movies and Super 8, movies that capture that same Spielbergian, Amblin feeling — that feeling of childhood escapism and nostalgia that I’ve been craving.

I also read for an entire afternoon on the couch — just like I used to do each summer when I was younger. Reading for hours, getting lost in a book. I’m reading Yesteryear with my mom. It’s definitely…interesting.

And I started dressing up again. I’ve also always loved fashion, but Vancouver is the type of city that can make you feel overdressed for wearing anything other than Lululemon leggings and a hoodie. The thing is, style has always made me feel like me.

So I’ve been having fun buying a few new pieces, shopping my own closet, actually putting outfits together again, and building Pinterest boards inspired by my forever style icons: Rachel Green (seasons one and two, obviously), ‘90s Gwyneth Paltrow, Carolyn Bessette-Kennedy, and Olivia Wilde off duty.

Even with my writing, something has shifted.

My next project is wildly different from anything I’ve written before. Or maybe it’s not. It’s actually a return to something I started years ago but abandoned because I thought I should write something that felt more “on brand.”

Then I had to ask myself: What’s more on brand for me than being myself? Than writing the story I actually want to write?

Because I think that’s what was missing.

Not just the playfulness, but the feeling that somewhere along the way I’d become separated from the Brianne I was before adulthood convinced me everything had to make sense, be efficient, be marketable, or fit neatly into a box.

None of these things I’m doing this summer are particularly productive. They’re not helping my career (well, I HOPE the writing project eventually will). They’re not optimizing my morning routine. They’re not even things I can brag about on LinkedIn.

They’re just...fun.

More importantly, they’re helping me reconnect with myself.

I think this happens to all of us as we creep into the age where we’re supposed to eat more protein and fibre and visit the doctor more often than we’d like.

Somewhere between building careers, paying rent or a mortgage, taking care of ourselves and the people we love, and trying to become functioning, law-abiding adults in this topsy-turvy world, we quietly stop doing the things that once made us feel most like ourselves. Not because we stop loving them, but because they don’t seem useful anymore.

Why would I spend an afternoon riding a horse when I could research investments? Why would I put together an outfit just because it makes me happy? Why would I read a book for an entire afternoon when I could clean my apartment? Why would I write the weird story that’s been living in my head for years instead of the one that feels more practical or marketable?

I’m an artist, and I used to think that by stubbornly holding onto my writing, I’d escaped all of this PRACTICALITY. But I haven’t.

Because even the thing I love most can start to feel like another item on my to-do list. Another box to check. Another boring chore. Especially when it starts to feel more like work than play.

Somewhere between becoming a responsible adult and becoming a productive one, I think I forgot that I was also supposed to enjoy myself sometimes. And not just in the form of a self-care bubble bath (although I do love a good bubble bath), but by doing something simply because it brings me joy.

Because even self-care has become something we optimize.

The bubble bath isn’t just a bubble bath anymore. It’s part of a wellness routine. Reading isn’t just reading; it’s a way to hit a Goodreads goal. Going for a walk becomes a way to get your 10,000 steps. Even our hobbies start needing a purpose.

Maybe that’s the real warning sign. Not just that we’ve grown older, but that we’ve forgotten how to do things that make us lose track of time—for no other reason than the pleasure of doing them

I don’t know if you’ve ever had this feeling, but there are days when I finish work and think, Who am I outside of all of this? Outside of the deadlines, the responsibilities, the routines, the roles I play for everyone else.

Who is the girl who still likes to have tea parties with her stuffed animals?

Because I remember her. And I’m reminded of her every time I go to my computer. Not just because she loved to write too (on her typewriter then to a Compaq Presario) but because I have a photo of her.

This is a picture of me as a little girl having a tea party with my stuffed animals, and I keep it beside my computer as a reminder to have fun. To remember that I was once someone who could spend an afternoon making up a world just because I felt like it.

AND THAT’S WHAT I WANT TO DO THIS SUMMER!

No…FOREVER.

Not just have tea parties with stuffed animals (although I just might!) but to remember what it was like to have wonder.

So no, I don’t think I’m having a midlife crisis.

I think I’m having a childhood renaissance.

Because maybe the opposite of a midlife crisis isn’t buying a convertible.

Maybe it’s getting back on a horse.

Thanks for being here!

Luv, Brie xoxo

P.S. Tell me in the comments if you feel the same way!

SONG

This is DEFINITELY not a grown-up song and maybe not one that most people would publicly recommend but this does remind me of summer and youth, so here we are.

GAME

First Rat. I played this game over the weekend with friends and it’s one of the weirdest, most surprisingly strategic and fun games I’ve played in a while.

BERNIE PHOTO

I sent this photo to my parents. I told them it looks like Bernie has a bowl-shaped haircut. My dad said it looked like she was wearing “a piece” and then I said she does look like Moe from The Three Stooges. (BOY I AM OLD FOR THAT REFERENCE!) LOL

My last summer in New York...

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June 13, 2024

It was summer in Manhattan and outside felt like a giant mouth – humid and stale. I was 26 years old, unemployed and starving, and so naturally that’s how I found myself trying to get a job as a psychic for a 1-800-psychic hotline.

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