Existential Crisis?

December 12, 2025

I spent Thanksgiving in Seattle with my family.

It was wonderful.

Time together with my kids.

One of the two meals I actually look forward to cooking every year.

Laughter, connection, possibility.

On our last day there, my son and I met my sister and several of her good friends for lunch.

The food was… fine.

But the company more than made up for it.

Everyone was laughing while one of her friends held court, telling joke after joke.

He was really good.

Like he’d memorized The Encyclopedia of Crowd-Pleasers.

I was laughing along with everyone—

until he referenced a recent Saturday Night Live sketch.

Something about how a bob haircut is a divorce glow-up

and bangs are a midlife crisis.

My sister immediately turned to her friend and me and said,

“Hey! That’s like you two!

She has the bob glow-up after her divorce,

and Katherine has the midlife crisis bangs.”

Everyone laughed harder.

Everyone except me.

I was honestly really fucking offended.

First of all, I’ve had bangs for over fifteen years—

long before I hit midlife, thank you very much.

And second of all,

I am not having a midlife crisis.

So I said something along the lines of:

“Ummm… a landslide is not a midlife crisis.

And neither is dealing with the absolute fuckery of what’s-his-fuckface.”

(As one does at a casual lunch.)

I think my sister sensed the shift in my energy—

that subtle change from ha ha ha

to I will burn this place down politely—

because she quickly added:

“Right, not a midlife crisis.

A never-ending existential crisis.

Lucky you!”

Everyone laughed again.

And that’s when I excused myself to the bathroom

to stare at my reflection,

adjust my very-much-not-new bangs,

and quietly ponder the meaning of my life.