The Shared Experience, Vol. 7: Walking Through Midlife
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"Getting older is a privilege, and getting stronger is a choice."
These words are spoken often by my favorite Peloton instructor, Rebecca Kennedy, and every time I hear them they seem to meet me exactly where I am.
She says them with such confidence, enthusiasm, and joy that I can't help but wonder — why wouldn't we want to become stronger if we are fortunate enough to grow older?
Maybe it's because getting older asks something of us. It asks us to face change with courage. To embrace discomfort. To appreciate our bodies while accepting that they are changing. To remain curious instead of fearful. To recognize that aging isn't something to resist, but something to participate in with intention.
Midlife feels like a shared experience that few of us are fully prepared for. Our bodies change. Our minds shift. Our hearts carry both gratitude and grief. There is beauty in this season, but there is also uncertainty. Learning to hold both at the same time may be one of life's greatest lessons.
This past weekend I returned to my hometown of Santa Cruz.
Driving familiar streets and reconnecting with lifelong friends reminded me of another version of myself — the young mother whose days revolved around preschool drop-offs, packed lunches, scraped knees, and bedtime routines. We raised our children together, celebrating milestones while quietly carrying the exhaustion that comes from pouring everything you have into raising good humans.
Back then, parenting was physically demanding. Every day required movement, energy, and constant attention.
Now the work has changed.
The questions become bigger. High school becomes college. Childhood becomes adulthood. The conversations become deeper, the decisions more complex, and the emotional investment somehow grows even larger. As my youngest prepares to enter middle school, I find myself standing at the edge of a new chapter. For years I couldn't imagine life beyond raising young children. It felt like that season would last forever.
But now, I can see the light ahead.
Something quietly shifts during midlife. For so many years our attention is directed outward — toward our children, our families, our careers, and everyone who depends on us. Then one day the pendulum gently swings back, and we realize that we, too, deserve care.
That realization can be both beautiful and unsettling. There is relief in it, and there is grief in it too. And somewhere in that in-between space, anxiety has a way of quietly moving in.
I've learned not to fight it.
Instead, I walk.
Not because walking solves every problem, but because it reminds me that my body already knows how to move through difficult seasons.
Sometimes I choose a wooded trail. Sometimes it's a neighborhood sidewalk alive with the sounds of children playing, sprinklers humming, or dinner cooking in nearby homes. Sometimes it's simply the steady rhythm of my feet meeting the pavement.
The destination rarely matters.
The movement does.
Research suggests that walking can help reduce symptoms of anxiety, and spending time in nature may offer even greater benefits. But beyond the research, there is something deeply regulating about placing one foot in front of the other. Walking gently invites the nervous system to settle, creating space for thoughts to soften and perspective to return.
Instead of reaching for my phone and scrolling through someone else's life, I try to step outside and become fully present in my own.
I notice the breeze. The warmth of the sun. The scent of fresh-cut grass or rain-soaked pavement. The colors changing from one block to the next. The crunch of gravel beneath my shoes.
These small moments remind me that we were created to move through the world — not only to arrive somewhere, but to experience it.
A Walking Ritual for Anxious Days
When you notice your mind racing or your body holding tension, consider stepping outside for a simple walk. It doesn't need to be long, fast, or purposeful. The goal isn't to reach a destination — it's to reconnect with yourself.
Before you begin, pause for a slow breath and set a quiet intention.
"For the next ten minutes, I'm simply going to walk."
As you move, let your footsteps become your anchor. Feel your feet meet the ground. Let your arms swing naturally. When your thoughts wander, gently return your attention to what you can see, hear, smell, and feel around you.
When your walk comes to an end, pause once more before stepping back into your day. Take one deep breath and thank your body for carrying you forward.
Sometimes healing doesn't begin with finding the perfect answer. Sometimes it begins with simply taking the next step.
Before I head out the door, I like to begin with one more small ritual.
I fill my water bottle, take a few moments to hydrate, and nourish my skin with a small amount of Suet'Amor™. A pea-sized dab smoothed onto my face, neck, knees, elbows, and any delicate areas of skin that can become irritated by friction and fabric during a walk.
Supporting my skin barrier with biocompatible lipids helps my skin feel comfortable, hydrated, and resilient before I head outside. But more than that — it is a quiet act of care that reminds me my body deserves the same attention I have spent so many years giving to everyone else.
Maybe that is what rituals really are. Not grand gestures. Not complicated wellness routines. Just small, intentional choices that gently guide us back to ourselves.
Explore Balm de Amor — nourishment your skin will recognize →As Rebecca Kennedy reminds us: "Getting older is a privilege, and getting stronger is a choice."
I would add one thought of my own.
Choose the rituals that make you feel most like yourself. Not because someone told you to. Not because it looks good on the outside. But because somewhere along the way, you remembered that you are worth coming home to.
Please note: This post reflects my personal experience and is not intended as medical advice.