I am either living off of pre-packaged energy bars or I am hand-peeling the skins off of 4,000 chickpeas to make homemade hummus.

I am either neglecting to wash my face at the end of the day or I am gently cleansing it, toning it, exfoliating it, putting a mask on it and dousing it with serums. (Once. Maybe twice. Then back to neglect.)

I am either never volunteering to help at my kids’ school or I am somehow along for the ride of a 3-day camping trip with the entire Grade 5 class.

I am either drinking Diet Coke or kombucha.

I am either working 60 hours a week or I am in my bed, smushed under a weighted blanket with my laptop streaming Netflix for, like, the whole day.

I am either turning a blind eye to the overflowing junk drawer or I am dumping its contents angrily into a box, declaring, “WE CAN’T LIVE LIKE THIS ANYMORE!” and lighting it on fire.

I am either schlumping around the house in my robe and slippers or I am wearing a tailored dress and pumps, off to work.

I am trying to swing less from these extremes but I do find it fascinating that this is my tendency. It’s OK though. I am learning to non-judgementally observe how I’m wired and then make small, sustainable adjustments in the direction I’d like to go. I think it’s called BEING MIDDLE-AGED.