Here I find myself like so many before me; midway through life and pondering where I came from.  Not just the people whose DNA was melded into making my physical body, but their story and the people before them.  This is not what I envisioned a "mid-life crisis" to be.  The Hollywood narrative of men buying a sports car and women getting a makeover just isn't where I'm at.  It's not really a crisis of regret or loss of youth.  More so, it's a ponderance of permanence, identity and ultimately of ego. 

I have emotionally rich memories of my immediate and extended family and it's these that buoy me through life.  It's as if they were some sort of life tether to love and belonging as I step out into a world that doesn't guarantee the same.  

As a child, I remember sitting in a dining room with my extended family encircled about and hearing the same names of long departed faceless relatives being spoken of, the same stories that ended in raucous laugher, and more importantly hearing the unspoken bond of love and belonging that was behind it all.  These were the meaningful connections that my parents, grandparents, aunts, and uncles had in their lives.  As my parents age, I hear an increasing urgency of the same.  I am just like my dad in where our stories and emotional connections often reside in objects and places, so when I'm visiting he'll tell my sister and I something along the lines of, "Now when I'm gone, remember that this [insert object here] was used by [insert ancestor here] while working at [insert location]".  My mom does enjoy reminiscing on her past, especially the stories passed down to her and her sister, but can let go of items and objects. I can let go of things and label them insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but I love collecting objects and pictures that have a story attached to them, especially those related to my family.  I have no children and my sister, well, if just wanting to build a family with her husband was all it took, her body wouldn't have thought otherwise.   

I’m beginning to realize that what has really been nagging at my psyche lately.  It's that my story and all of those before me just....ends.  Now I know that in some way our ripple in this pool of existence expands outside of our inner circle, but those intimate aspects of our family will just no longer be.  How egotistical is that? (she says to keep from flying into an existential crisis)  I mean, how many millions of humans went before us, whose lives aren't remaining in clearly defined stories?  Just the ones that had great impact or those for whom were lucky enough to be a part of a race or gender that were privileged enough to write the history books, really.  I guess my greatest question is, what's the ding dong point?  Also known as, what is the meaning of life?  So until I can relieve all of humanity from the burden of that question, I will just say, because it makes me happy. If my wild love of researching ancestry and genealogy can help others, ah, now that is true bliss for me.