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Passages: Predictable Crises of Adult Life Paperback – January 10, 2006

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Product Details

  • Paperback: 576 pages
  • Publisher: Ballantine Books; 0030-Anniversary edition (January 10, 2006)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 034547922X
  • ISBN-13: 978-0345479228
  • Product Dimensions: 8 x 5.3 x 1.3 inches
  • Shipping Weight: 13.6 ounces (View shipping rates and policies)
  • Average Customer Review: 4.1 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (22 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #15,969 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)

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About the Author

To schedule a speaking engagement, please contact American Program Bureau at www.apbspeakers.com  

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.



without warning, in the middle of my thirties, i had a breakdown of nerve. It never occurred to me that while winging along in my happiest and most productive stage, all of a sudden simply staying afloat would require a massive exertion of will. Or of some power greater than will.

I was talking to a young boy in Northern Ireland where I was on assignment for a magazine when a bullet blew his face off. That was how fast it all changed. We were standing side by side in the sun, relaxed and triumphant after a civil rights march by the Catholics of Derry. We had been met by soldiers at the barricade; we had vomited tear gas and dragged those dented by rubber bullets back to safety. Now we were surveying the crowd from a balcony.

“How do the paratroopers fire those gas canisters so far?” I asked.

“See them jammin’ their rifle butts against the ground?” the boy was saying when the steel slug tore into his mouth and ripped up the bridge of his nose and left of his face nothing but ground bone meal.

“My God,” I said dumbly, “they’re real bullets.” I tried to think how to put his face back together again. Up to that moment in my life I thought everything could be mended.

Below the balcony, British armored cars began to plow into the crowd. Paratroopers jackknifed out of them with high-velocity rifles. They sprayed us with steel.

The boy without a face fell on top of me. An older man, walloped on the back of the neck with a rifle butt, stumbled up the stairs and collapsed upon us. More dazed bodies pressed in until we were like a human caterpillar, inching on our bellies up the steps of the exposed outdoor staircase.

“Can’t we get into somebody’s house!” I shouted. We crawled up eight floors but all the doors to the flats were bolted. Someone would have to crawl out on the balcony in open fire to bang on the nearest door. Another boy howled from below: “Jesus, I’m hit!” His voice propelled me across the balcony, trembling but still insulated by some soft-walled childhood sac that I thought provided for my own indestructibility. A moment later, a bullet passed a few feet in front of my nose. I hurled myself against the nearest door and we were all taken in.

The closets of the flat were already filled with mothers and their clinging children. For nearly an hour the bullets kept coming. From the window I saw three boys rise from behind a barricade to make a run for it. They were cut down like dummies in a shooting gallery. So was the priest who followed them, waving a white handkerchief, and the old man who bent to say a prayer over them. A wounded man we had dragged upstairs asked if anyone had seen his younger brother. “Shot dead,” was the report.

Something like this had happened to my own brother in Vietnam. But the funeral took place in the bland Connecticut country- side, and I was a few years younger. So neatly had the honor guard tricornered the victim’s flag, it looked like a souvenir sofa pillow. People had patted my hands and said, “We know how you must feel.” It made me think of the strangers who were always confiding in me that they were scheduled for surgery or “taking it easy” after a heart attack. All I had for their pain were the same words: “I know how you must feel.” I had known nothing of the sort.

After the surprise massacre, I was one among trapped thousands cringing in the paper-walled bungalows of the Catholic ghetto. All exits from the city were sealed. Waiting was the only occupation. Waiting for the British army to perform a house-to-house search.

“What will you do if the soldiers come in here firing?” I asked the old woman who was harboring me.

“Lie on me stomach!” she said.

Another woman was using the telephone to confirm the names of the dead. Once upon a time I was a Protestant of strong faith; I tried to pray. But that silly game of childhood kept running through my mind . . . if you had one wish in the whole world . . . I decided to call my love. He would say the magic words to make the danger go away.

“Hi! How are you?” His voice was absurdly breezy; he was in bed in New York.

“I’m alive.”

“Good, how’s the story coming?”

“I almost wasn’t alive. Thirteen people were murdered here today.”

“Hold on. CBS News is talking about Londonderry right now—”

“It’s called Bloody Sunday.”

“Can you speak up?”

“It’s not over. A mother of fourteen children was just run down by an armored car.”

“Now look, you don’t have to get in the front lines. You’re doing a story on Irish women, remember that. Just stick with the women and stay out of trouble. Okay, honey?”

From the moment I hung up on that nonconversation, my head went numb. My scalp shrank. Some dark switch was thrown, and a series of weights began to roll across my brain like steel balls. I had squandered my one wish to be saved. The world was negligent. Thirteen could perish, or thirteen thousand, I could perish, and tomorrow it would all be beside the point.

As I joined the people lying on their stomachs, a powerful idea took hold: No one is with me. No one can keep me safe. There is no one who won’t ever leave me alone.

I had a headache for a year.

When I flew home from Ireland, I couldn’t write the story, could not confront the fact of my own mortality. In the end, I dragged out some words and made the deadline but at an ugly price. My short temper lengthened into diatribes against the people closest to me, driving away the only sources of support who might have helped me fight my demons. I broke off with the man who had been sharing my life for four years, fired my secretary, lost my housekeeper, and found myself alone with my daughter Maura, marking time.

As spring came, I hardly knew myself. The rootlessness that had been such a joy in my early thirties, allowing me to burst the ropes of old roles, to be reckless and selfish and focused on stretching my newfound dream, to roam the world on assignments and then to stay up all night typing on caffeine and nicotine—all at once that didn’t work anymore.

Some intruder shook me by the psyche and shouted: Take stock! Half your life has been spent. What about the part of you that wants a home and talks about a second child? Before I could answer, the intruder pointed to something else I had postponed: What about the side of you that wants to contribute to the world? Words, books, demonstrations, donations—is this enough? You have been a performer, not a full participant. And now you are 35.

To be confronted for the first time with the arithmetic of life was, quite simply, terrifying.

It is unusual to find yourself in the middle of a shooting war, but many of life’s accidents can have a similar effect. You play tennis twice a week with a dynamic 38-year-old businessman. In the locker room a silent clot throttles an artery and before he can call for help, a large part of his heart muscle has been strangled. His attack touches his wife, his business associates, and all his friends of a similar age, including you.

Or a distant phone call notifies you that your father or mother has been hospitalized. You carry with you to the bedside a picture of the dynamo you last saw, clearing land or dashing off to the League of Women Voters. In the hospital you see that this dynamo has passed, all at once and incontrovertibly, into the twilight of ill health and helplessness.

As we reach midlife in the middle thirties or early forties, we become susceptible to the idea of our own perishability. If an accident that interrupts our life occurs at this time, our fears of mortality are heightened. We are not prepared for the idea that time can run out on us, or for the startling truth that if we don’t hurry to pursue our own definition of a meaningful existence, life can become a repetition of trivial maintenance duties. Nor are we anticipating a major upheaval of the roles and rules that may have comfortably defined us in the first half of life, but that must be reordered around a core of strongly felt personal values in the second.

In normal circumstances, without the blow of a life accident, these issues affiliated with midlife are revealed over a period of years. We have time to adjust. But when they are thrust on us all at once, we cannot immediately accept them. The downside of life comes too hard and fast to incorporate.

In my case, the unanticipated brush with death in Ireland brought the underlying issues of midlife forward in full force.

If i tell you about the week, six months later, if I report the observable facts—while dashing out the door to catch a plane to Florida to cover the Democratic National Convention, a healthy, divorced career mother finds one of her pet lovebirds dead and bursts into uncontrollable tears—you might say, “This woman was cracking up.” Which is precisely what I began to think.

I took the aisle seat in the tail of the plane so that when we crashed, I would be the last one to see the ground.

Flying had always been a joy to me. Plucky one that I was at 30, I had taken to parachuting out of bush planes for sport. It was different now. Whenever I went near a plane I saw a balcony in Northern Ireland. In six months the fear of airplanes had blossomed into a phobia. Every news photo of a crash drew my attention. I would study the pictures in morbid detail. The plan...

More About the Author

Gail Sheehy is the world-renowned author of seventeen books, most notably the New York Times best-seller Passages, named one of the ten most influential books by the Library of Congress and which has been translated into twenty-eight languages.

Her latest book, DARING: My Passages, is a memoir available now for preorder; September 2014 from HarperCollins.

As a literary journalist, Sheehy was one of the original contributors to New York magazine. A contributing editor to Vanity Fair since 1984, she won the Washington Journalism Review Award for Best Magazine Writer in America for her in-depth character portraits of national and international leaders.

Sheehy is a seven-time recipient of the New York Newswomen's Club Front Page Award for distinguished journalism. Among her other bestsellers are Sex and the Seasoned Woman; Hillary's Choice; New Passages; Understanding Men's Passages; and Passages in Caregiving.

A popular lecturer, she is represented by American Program Bureau (617-614-1607).

She currently resides in New York City.

Customer Reviews

Thank you Gail Sheehy for your wonderful insight.
This book should be mandatory reading for every woman.
Cheryl Schibley
This book was purchased for my 28-year-old daughter.
Nancy R. Bonavita

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

57 of 62 people found the following review helpful By Bertz on January 9, 2007
Format: Paperback Verified Purchase
Reading Passages by Gail Sheehy was a turning point in my life. I especially remember "The most important words in midlife are--Let Go. Let it happen to you. Let it happen to your partner. Let the feelings. Let the changes." "You can't take everything with you when you leave on the midlife journey." "You are moving out of roles and into the self." in Part Six "Deadline Decade" Chapter 17 "Riding Out the Downside". Knowing this, I felt a great sense of relief knowing that the only person I could change is myself. From that point on I was quietly inspired to look for more information that I could read or hear (tapes) that would help me pull myself together. I treated my family more lovingly and I went back to college to finish my degree. Everyone would benefit from reading this inspiring classic. Thank you Gail Sheehy for your wonderful insight.
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20 of 20 people found the following review helpful By SophieG on July 7, 2011
Format: Paperback
"Passages" is a classic book about confronting the changes of middle age, and the author has a no-nonsense style that is really refreshing. It was very helpful to hear how many people who reach middle age (whenever that is) have many of the same confusing and upsetting feelings, how we're not nuts, and how there IS light at the end of the tunnel. However, having said that, this book seemed quite dated to me. It was written in the 1970s when it was still the norm for women to marry in their early 20's without any career training, a college education, or any experience with independent living. The crises that these women confronted in middle age are a bit different than modern women face, since many modern women have achieved quite a bit of independence before establishing a relationship with a partner, or choosing to remain single. Also, I found the discussion of men's lives reflected the 1970's social norms as well, i.e. that most men followed the traditional business-career route, and were pretty sexist in their attitudes towards their wives. This social bias is reflected in her discussion of difficulties that couples face during various stages of their lives. Some of the psychological research the author referred to is quite out of date as well. Still, I think the author presented some great insights about the feelings that many middle aged people experience, and despite the somewhat dated psychological and social perspectives, this book is really worth reading, particularly if you just skim over the outdated stuff. One thing that really struck me is how much our modern view of when "middle age" occurs differs from what the author presented in her book. She described people beginning to confront "middle age" around age 35.Read more ›
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10 of 10 people found the following review helpful By Nancy R. Bonavita on June 9, 2009
Format: Paperback
This book was purchased for my 28-year-old daughter. She and I were visiting and discussing "life" issues and I got out my copy of Passages, copyright 1977, that I had purchased many years ago at a used book store when she was just a toddler. She was so surprised at how many of the marked passages in my book that she identified with that she knew she had to have a copy of her own. A book that identifies life situations across the generations is a book well worth having. I'm so glad you are still making it available to a new generation. Some things never change ....
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7 of 7 people found the following review helpful By Sparrow on November 7, 2011
Format: Paperback
I'm not kidding, and it's been a standing joke in the family that I've taken this book with me on dozens of vacations and never finished it. I don't know why it's considered such a classic of women's wisdom, except that when it was written, nothing like it existed. I found some interesting insights, but none of the profound, earth-shaking rattles to my consciousness that I was led to expect. It is an interesting and worthwhile book for anyone experiencing major changes in life that can't be explained by a troubled marriage, kids who are driving them crazy, or a job that's evaporating with age or lack of enthusiasm. Try it, but don't expect to be bowled over.
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5 of 5 people found the following review helpful By Stephanie L. Finman on September 6, 2009
Format: Paperback Verified Purchase
I was thrilled to find a copy of this book. I came into ownership of a copy years ago when I was younger and have remembered many the lessons which have helped me over these many years. I have now shared this book with 3 people whom also agree that it is "right on point", at least for our age group. Yeah! The price could not be beat and the seller delivered just as promised. Happy customer.
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7 of 8 people found the following review helpful By Eddie L. Hudson on April 25, 2009
Format: Paperback Verified Purchase
Excellent book! Gail breaks down the stages of this adult hood. Some of the things we complain our parents never told us about? Gail explains much of it, including the subtle internal changes adults feel, and wonder if they should disappear from society and become a recluse.

The book presents explanations of the changes we experience as an adult and using common sense language.
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4 of 5 people found the following review helpful By Guillaume Wolf "Prof. G" on January 19, 2014
Format: Paperback Verified Purchase
The book is well written, but from today's perspective, it's really hard to get into because it feels so dated (it was written in 1974).

Instead of organizing her ideas in ways that are easy to digest, the author relies on hundreds of anecdotes and stories that seem really random. The most dreadful for me was to read the stories of people described in the book because I could never relate to any of them (maybe because they come from pre-internet era?).

These characters sound like a weird soap opera . . . Here's a random example:

"Her father ran off with a Mexican dancer. She took it as a personal rejection. She also began to suspect that he wasn't the political radical she had thought. But even as Blair feared she might turn out just like her father, all flash and no sustaining personal investments, he was the parent with whom she most consciously identified."

Unfortunately, I don't identify with "Blair," nor with "Her father (who) ran off with a Mexican dancer."

I was really looking forward to it, but it was impossible to read. Returned.
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