How Prince’s Death Became a Generation’s Midlife Crisis
Last Thursday the news came, on Facebook and in texts, in whispers throughout Minneapolis. Our hometown hero had died.
An electric current immediately flashed through me. The file in my brain marked 1980-1984 snapped open and I remembered everything. Music and sightings, deep friendships, and lost loves, and dance, so much dance. Prince is the soundtrack of my years of self discovery.
Like his death, word of his music spread by whispered rumors through my All girls Catholic high school in the late 70s. He showed up just in time. At 16 I was ready to take my sexuality out of my bedroom and onto the dance floor. His lustful lyrics replaced stolen Playboy magazines as my new sex ed. Conveniently, my first Walkman allowed me to indulge in “I Want to be Your Lover” under deep cover in my school uniform.
I have been shocked that everyone has a Prince story. Turns out I wasn’t the only one deeply impacted by the news of his death. We have been deeply impacted. Suddenly I am surrounded by the ghosts of our 20somethings falling apart- royally pissed to find out that we got old and boring somehow.
A midlife crisis happens when you face the choices you didn’t make, the roads not taken and realize that there are not endless roads ahead. Prince left us too early at 57, even by 20something standards. Once full of endless potential and fearless in the face of death. 20something me only worried about herself.
Mostly I hear people regret that they missed the opportunity. We all knew about the late night/pancake jams. The doors at Paisley were thrown open regularly. But I chose Netflix and chill because I had to work in the morning. I shouldn’t have let the dust settle on the vinyl but got caught up in the latest Trump drama. My car radio is permanently set on MPR and I can’t remember where I left KMOJ.
When did I become conventional? Where did the passion for new and scary get replaced with familiar and safe? My minis skirts and heels get replaced by yoga pants and unstructured shoes?
20something years are rich in self discovery. We try on versions of self through music, clothes, books, and the amazing array of people we get to hang out with. Somewhere along the line we land someplace that feels like home. We decide that we do know who we are. This is the person that picks a career path or a partner or decides to have kids. It becomes time to “settle down”.
Maybe I just settled just a little too far down. I got caught up in family because family matters. I gave my passion to my work because my work matters. I just think maybe Prince reminded me this week that there is more to me than that. Or that’s the lesson I pick.
Growing old is a privilege. Growing boring a waste. I chose more art, more risk, more yes, more music, more dance. I chose more growth and discomfort and more “I never…” I think I’ve got a few good years ahead. If I have 2 or I have 40 (and who wants 40 more if they’re boring?) I’m going to keep my 20something close and see where she takes me next.