When Midlife and COVID Collided
Read Time: 6 Minutes
Words and image by Tamara Muth King
My love story began in the summer of 1989. Somehow I had fallen into a career as an international model, much like I stumbled upon a job at a restaurant back home in Maryland. I happened to be in the right place at the right time. I never would have thought of modeling as something that I would ever do. I wasn’t tall and I wasn’t what I would consider pretty, if anything I was interesting looking. Regardless, in the summer of 1989 while I was living in a pensione in Milan, I fell in love with a golden guy from California. Our chance meeting and romance blossomed into something that we both wanted to make work once we had returned back to the United States. We agreed that this would be a great story to tell our grandchildren... someday.
Long distance relationships in the late 1980s were constrained by expensive long distance telephone calls and the slow pace of, what we now call, “snail mail.” I was based out of New York, and my golden guy was west coast, through and through. I flew out to California to visit when we were back in the States, and I immediately crafted a plan to move to the west coast as soon as possible. I had a car that was my own, it was a gift from my deceased father, and I had already lived abroad in three other countries. So at the very least, this was going to be an adventure.
A few months later, armed with an atlas of the United States, my entire cassette tape collection, and all of my worldly belongings, I drove across the country alone. From sea to shining sea, I tackled the drive in three and a half days. I was amazed at the ever changing landscape that I drove through, and I felt such satisfaction and relief when I drove through the McClure tunnel in Santa Monica, California, that I spontaneously released the tears that I had held in since Maryland.
Life with my golden guy in California was a far cry from the time that we had shared in Italy, and I soon became lost in his world that consisted of university Greek system wealth, privilege, and substance abuse. I ignored all of the red flags that the universe had hoisted in my direction, because I was so in love with this man. After years of dating, we were married in a planned elopement, and a year later we had our first child.
I gave up my career as a photographer to stay at home with our child, and my golden guy was the provider for all of us. His job was as much business as it was social tour guide for clients. It was a perfect job for someone with a drinking problem. Less than two years later, our family of three was a family of four. Our youngest child was injured during birth, and it was the beginning of our marriage going off the rails.
I was a shiny object that had come out to California, and faded into the background by the harsh sunlight. No one would look in my direction and give me the time of day, not even my husband. His life outside of our home was work, drinking and drugs, affairs, and periodic “sabbaticals” from our marriage. His life was about him, mine was about my children. My entire identity was in being a mother and a helper for a man that didn’t want me. I had no individual goals anymore, I was trying to help everyone else attain theirs.
It’s no surprise that our marriage ended in divorce when our children were on the cusp of high school, and even though we were divorced I was still attached to my ex. His new wife relied on me when his addiction was out of control. I drove my ex to rehab for her, and I found him when he had overdosed on prescription drugs and alcohol. The overdose was the straw that broke me. We had been apart for nine years, and I was still being relied on to help him and his new family. I spiraled into a depression that had been bubbling under the surface.
I was alone, single for nearly a decade, and a middle aged empty nester. The children were off at university. I went home to an empty apartment each night, and I was miserable. I had no idea why I was even here in this world. Did I only exist to help everyone else, did I have my own goals, was I that unattractive that I would be alone for the rest of my life. I was great at making things happen for other people, but I didn’t even know what I wanted to make happen for myself.
Then the pandemic hit, and I was alone and stuck. I had to do something to move forward, so I hatched a brilliant idea. I gave away most of my things, stored what was of value, packed up my tiny Toyota, and I decided to drive the entire length of the Baja Peninsula in Mexico. I randomly picked La Paz, Baja Sur as a destination, and read one e-book on driving the peninsula. Just the thought of an adventure that included saltwater, and gorgeous scenery was exciting.
On August 22, 2020, I crossed the international border in Calexico, California in my tiny Toyota, with my dog, the possessions that I thought that I would need, and a 24-inch Jesus statue at my side. I was in Baja, Mexico with 1,100 miles of solitary driving between where I started and where I would hold a set of keys that would represent home. I was being called brave by some and crazy by others, and I was probably equal parts of both. What I started was forward momentum, and that’s all I could do in my life- move forward. But there I was living out my BAJA moment, I was “Beginning a Journey Again.”
The solitary drive through Baja was long, and harrowing at times, but it was equally spectacular. The desert floor would stretch endlessly in the distance, but glimpses of the Sea of Cortez were breathtaking and just what I needed to keep me going. In two and half days, I had driven from Los Angeles to La Paz, and I was safely tucked into a casita a few blocks from the beach.
I found an easy rhythm to life in La Paz. It was hotter than hell, with afternoon swims being one of my favorite times of day. I collected shells that I had seen in books, and swam with fish that were vibrant colors of the rainbow. When I would feel alone, the universe would provide some sort of divine message through the natural world. Mother Nature would surround me with a school of fish, or produce a sunset that would make time stand still. I slowly learned that I was never alone.
During the days, I would write about my experience, capture video footage, and apply for jobs back in the states. I was desperate to find a job and a place to be part of a community. I thought that gainful employment would tick both of those boxes. A little more than a month into my stay in La Paz, I was offered a job. In my desperation for work, I said yes and realized that 4,000 miles lay between where I was and where I would need to go. But it was forward momentum!
I left Los Angeles, and my life as I knew it eight months and 10,000 miles ago. Things haven’t gone exactly as planned, but when do they ever. I have found myself when I have been the most lost. Sometimes I’m alone in the car with the dog and my Jesus statue, or floating in saltwater. My experiences have healed me in a way that I could never have imagined. If life is meant to be a journey, then I am LIVING it right now. It’s all going to be a great story to tell the grandchildren someday.
This story is part of our overall mission to help women feel less alone in their experiences.
We believe that when we share the honest parts of our lives, it gives other women the courage to say “me, too” and we begin to change the conversation around the world.
If you want to support our mission, here are the best ways to do that:
Become a Fireside community member
About the Author:
Tamara Muth King is a storyteller most known for her photography and art direction work. Most recently she self-published a memoir on Amazon, and is a contributor to Paper City's Round Top Magazine as a writer and photographer. If photography was her first career act, writing is her second. This past year she has driven 10,000 miles in eight months and it's made for great content for her second book.
👇 Share this post and help other women who need to hear they’re not alone. 👇