What Does a Mid-Life Crisis Look Like?

I guess like this.

Mid-life crises are real. But they get a bad rap. When you’re (cough) middle-aged, you may

1. Have money

and

2. Realize you might not have many good years left.

This combination could lead to risk-taking. But not that much risk-taking because

1. You have money.  

Why else have you worked so responsibly all these years? 

For me, the answer to that question was a third-floor pied a tier in the French Quarter. Not a lifelong wish, but certainly a long-held desire. I’ve been looking at properties in the Quarter since before my grown daughter was born. That’s why when I stumbled upon a great deal on a modest studio, my husband gave me his blessing. 

But that’s all he gave me. With all its headaches and burdens, a second home in New Orleans is not his dream. However, he generously wanted me to have mine. 

So, I bought the apartment with no guilt. In fact, I feel pretty darn good about it.

But that doesn’t mean I haven’t experienced any tears or moments of doubt.   

Like when I got a phone call from the HOA president informing me that water was leaking from my unit down through the second and third floors. Looking at the pictures she sent me of damaged walls and ruined beds, my panicked brain couldn’t begin to calculate the cost. It turned out to be my neighbor’s leak. Despite being absolutely thrilled, I was careful not to act too excited when the president informed me of the “good” news. You see, the water-soaked bed belonged to her.  

Currently, I’m making my way through a long list of things that don’t work and/or need to be replaced. I affectionately refer to it as The Inventory of Broken Shit: stove, refrigerator, bed, heater, water heater, window, and a never ending battle with peeling wallpaper.

Hiring tradesmen to help with repairs has proven a bit rocky as well. Nine months and counting, and I’m still waiting (praying) that my brand new $3500 window (to my fire escape) will someday have trim and actually open.  

But probably the biggest hurdle to date was getting my gas turned on. During my short time in my new city, I’ve learned that when tackling home-related projects, citizens of New Orleans would be served well by having 1. patience and 2. connections. 

Things work a little differently in Nola. I wasted several long days sitting on my stoop waiting for the gas company, Entergy, to never show up. Fending off mosquitos and afraid to leave my post for food or the restroom, I resorted to chasing Entergy trucks up and down the street as they drove past me. 

Eventually, I caught one.  

The Entergy guy couldn’t have cared less about my plight, but the contractor standing beside him, thankfully, did. After I told the contractor my sad story about months of cold showers, he informed me that he had retired from Entergy as a dispatcher. He, a completely random stranger, called the new dispatcher and got my gas turned on!!! 

My hero. 

And you better believe I saved the Entergy guy’s phone number in my contacts. I’m catching on, and now I have connections.  

There have been smaller issues as well, much smaller. The size of baby birds, small rodents, and cockroaches. Ok, those roaches weren’t small at all. 

I’ve never lived alone before. I guess sweeping up dead birds caught in the fireplace and throwing out cockroach motels with no vacancy are the unglamorous parts of such an arrangement. At fifty-three years old, for the first time, I feel like a full-fledged grown-up…with a mortgage and disgusting chores to take care of. 

And I love it.