From YOLO to Oh-No

Life’s Chaotic Climb and Spiritual U-Turns

Life’s Rollercoaster: From Childlike Dreams to Midlife Crises and Beyond

When we’re kids, life seems limitless. At 18, as we step onto the threshold of adulthood, we are handed this invisible badge that says, Welcome to Adulthood, Now Figure It Out. Expectations multiply faster than WhatsApp groups during wedding season, and while the world is brimming with options, there’s often one loud limiting factor for Indian kids: parental approval.

Parents, the original HR managers of our lives, have a knack for throwing in phrases like, “We know what’s best for you.” This usually translates to “Do as we say, or face emotional turbulence at home.” As a result, many of us shelve our wildest dreams, like becoming an astronaut-chef-DJ, in favor of “safe” careers like engineering, medicine, or MBA-in-Anything-But-What-You-Like.

By the time we hit 30, things look promising. Careers are picking up, family WhatsApp groups are pushing rishtas our way, and the horizon features a potential partner who checks most boxes (read: “Good salary, good family, doesn’t support the wrong IPL team”). However, there’s a curveball—commitment. People today seem hesitant to say “forever” unless it involves Amazon Prime subscriptions. Yet, most of us cave under the combined pressure of parents, peers, and society’s ticking biological clock. Stability is achieved, albeit with some side-eye glances at that one friend still traveling solo to Bali.

At 40, stability feels like a cozy but worn-out sweater. You’re no longer explaining your life choices to aunties at weddings—they’ve accepted your marital status (or lack thereof), and so have you. Kids, careers, and EMIs run the show. The word “midlife crisis” hovers like an uninvited relative, but you’re too busy Googling “best yoga retreats” to notice.

Then comes 50, the age where life throws a plot twist worthy of a K-drama. Suddenly, you’re no longer the young go-getter at work; you’re being replaced by someone who uses phrases like “We should totally synergize!” Your kids are grown (and rolling their eyes at your tech questions), your partner may or may not still be in the picture, and oh, hello grey divorces! To add to the chaos, aging parents or in-laws often move in, bringing with them unsolicited wisdom and an endless supply of pickle jars.

At 60, there’s a quiet acceptance. You’re no longer chasing dreams; you’re sipping chai and letting the world buzz past. Compromise becomes second nature—whether it’s the TV remote or your cholesterol levels. Life slows down, and you start making peace with your choices. The horizon might still beckon, but for now, the recliner feels more inviting.

This whirlwind journey, dear reader, isn’t just a midlife crisis—it’s a soul journey. The Karmic Lesson Plan, if you will. Think of it as moving from the material plane (hello, Gucci handbags) to the spiritual plane (meditating on why we bought said handbag).

As toddlers, our first big assignment is figuring out our body. We learn that we are in charge of this miraculous machine—until we discover how easily it breaks down after a weekend of bad posture and good biryani. This connection between body and consciousness is crucial, yet deceptive. Somewhere along the way, we begin to believe that we are our bodies. Stressed body? Stressed me. Aching body? Aching me. Enter illusion—a.k.a. Maya.

Now, in Vedic philosophy, Maya is the mother goddess who gifts us this material body. Her counterpart in Christianity, Mary, did the same for her son. (Coincidence? I think not.) Through Maya, we’re handed the rulebook for the physical world, where appearances, titles, and possessions reign supreme.

But life isn’t a solo performance; it’s a dance with others. Relationships teach us about boundaries, rules, and emotional security. The father figure sets the external boundaries, while the mother figure provides the inner safety net—or at least, that’s the ideal. For those raised on conditional love (read: “Only good grades get ice cream”), the world outside mirrors this narrative.

Then, midlife hits, and the soul pipes up: “Hey, remember me? The spiritual being?” For some, this is a thunderclap revelation. For others, it’s a faint murmur beneath the hum of daily life. Either way, it’s uncomfortable—like being asked to wear jeans that don’t quite fit.

Franciscan friar Richard Rohr offers a poetic take on this phase in his book Falling Upwards. He argues that while we spend the first half of life climbing the proverbial success ladder, midlife often feels like falling off the top. But here’s the twist: this “fall” is actually an upliftment, a shift from external success to internal growth.

So, whether you’re 20, 40, or 60, remember: life’s transitions are less about age and more about awareness. You’re not falling apart—you’re falling upwards. And if that doesn’t make sense right now, don’t worry. It will. Probably when you’re sipping chai at 60.