Stuck in the Middle

Yes, I'm stuck in the middle with you,

And I'm wondering what it is I should do.

It's so hard to keep this smile from my face,

Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place.

Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right, Here I am stuck in the middle with you.
~ Stealers Wheel

Remember those years between 10 and 12 and how hard they were for kids? As exciting as puberty sounded, it was an extremely confusing time physically and emotionally. I don't know about you, but I was an emotional roller coaster. The worst part for me was being stuck in the middle - too old for dolls, too young for boys. Or, at least, my parents thought I was too young for boys. Those were also joyful years full of wonder and discovery, as well.

To this day, I dislike the hours between 5 p.m. and 7 p.m. It is that transitional time, after work but before the evening starts. These are times I feel stuck between two very different scenarios. 

As a 1950's baby boomer, a middle boomer, I find myself dealing with that feeling of transition or of being "stuck" in between. I'm too old for many young people I find interesting and want to learn from, but too young to be around the retired bunch. Pause. Maybe I should say I'm too old for the computer-literate bunch and too young for the less computer-literate people. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

I found myself in a situation recently where this came to light. I even saw myself in the person, years back before my iPhone became a necessity to me. When someone asked me if I was leaving my phone in the car, I thought I had misheard them. When I glanced at my phone casually, the person thought I had received a phone call. Explaining everything - well, it seemed like a lot of work!  Not that there is anything wrong with that.

I am the only one who can push myself over. I am the one who can stop over-analyzing every uncomfortable feeling. Some days, I'm good at this. Some days, I'm not. It is being stuck in the middle that feels so weird, a turtle without her sea legs. Not that there is anything wrong with that.

Is this a privileged white girl problem? The middle is better than extremes, right?