E Ellis Allen (girlonstilts.com)

I’m in the middle or tail end of a midlife crisis (depending on who’s doing the math and how optimistic I am that I can live to be 96—fingers crossed). My crisis is marked by endless and alien body aches and skepticism mixed with a longing for bygone days.

A few weeks ago, that nagging nostalgia for a once-upon-a-time favorite film led to my husband and me watching Superman: The Movie (1978). It stars Christopher Reeve (in his Super hunky prime), Margot Kidder (perhaps at her most lucid), and acting heavyweights Gene Hackman and Marlon Brando.

Like many things connected to the 70s era, it was painful to watch that special elixir of hardcore drug residue and technology in its infancy. Yikes! According to the 1970s, the future was everyone clad in metallic footie pajamas and extremely fluffy hair (maybe a gravity issue?). 

Moreover, the movie’s first ten minutes were a mistake—it wasn’t needed, it was weird, and it had shockingly bad acting (sorry, Brando fans).

But more than that, I was surprised at how much I could relate to the man in the full rash guard swimsuit accessorized by a cape, plastic belt, and kinky ruby boots—beyond owning these same articles of clothing!

Like Clark Kent struggling with a dual identity (mild-mannered bumbling reporter and super-duper alter ego, Superman), I feel a little two-faced, too.

I’m split between the mom and wife I used to be and this alien-like existence as an empty nester, married for what (sometimes) feels like a billion years, and beginning a screenwriting career during a Writer’s and Actor’s strike.

Usually, I’m hit with going over my life choices every time I take my dog out for a walk and must clean up after her. Very rarely am I triggered by a DC Comic.

Then there’s Superman’s palpable loneliness. He has no one to turn to (I mean after he ran away from his elderly mother, leaving her to deal with her own emptiness and alienness at being a new widow and managing a gigantic farm on her own. Not that I blame him—I wanted to be a writer over a farmer, too). He’s the last of his kind with no one to show him the ropes despite his bio-dad leaving him a bunch of mixed-tape information icicles. I wonder how Kal-El (Clark Kent/Superman) concluded that dork reporter was the way to go—Brando wouldn’t have led him that way!

Anywhoo—I feel like there are few people I can turn to for guidance on this weirdo, world-changing part of my life.

I know others my age, and I assume they may feel like I do, but I don’t know. Why don’t we talk about the terrifying fate awaiting us? Why don’t we reach out to each other and say, “Hey, I think my elbow is out of joint (again), and I’m pretty sure my time is running out faster than anybody else’s. Do you? What can I do about it?”

Why can’t we? Because it’s a huge bummer (thanks to the glitz and dizzying, always upbeat fashion magazine spread that is Instagram). Besides, I am 48 years old. Shouldn’t I know what I’m doing by now?

It’s impossible to say who Clark Kent would be during his own midlife crisis.

Is he still with Lois Lane-Superman after thirty years of marriage? Does he have to remove his hat and glasses and shrug into his Underoos upon entering the house so she recognizes him?

Do the Kent-Supermans fight over their children’s grades and check out College scholarships for Super-Junior or ground Little Lois after breaking curfew, taking away her cape?

Does Clark sometimes just disappear to his ice castle and rethink his life choices—what if he had let his alien freak-flag show in high school? Would he have been Homecoming King? Would he have settled down with Lana Lang and raised fifty kids and a hundred acres of wheat? How many times can he reverse the Earth’s rotation for a do-over? What happens if he fast-forwards Earth instead?

Skepticism and sarcasm aside, watching the movie, I was struck by the power of choice. Despite Superman’s challenges, he always chose to use his powers for the good of humanity—a super strength reminder that even during a midlife crisis, I, too, can make choices about my own life that could lead to personal satisfaction and happiness—isn’t that what we do? Isn’t that what we’re here for?

Looking at it through this lens, the 1978 Superman movie was more than just a blast from the past—it was a mirror, a tool for introspection, and maybe even a roadmap for navigating through it.

And perhaps, looking at it from this angle, the future won’t be so bad, even if it includes metallic footie pajamas and extremely fluffy hair.