I'm 42 (43 if you are really going to do the math, but I'm a big fan of The Hitchhiker's Guide, so... 42), and I might be starting to have a mid-life crisis. It's about this age that people do that, right? Well, I might be jumping on the bandwagon.
I have a lot of nostalgic thoughts. Fond memories (many of which are really only hazy notions of memories), sad regrets, ponderings of choices made at various forks in the road. I muse upon the general direction my life has gone, and wonder about different alternate realities I've created through various decisions throughout these last 42 (all right, 43, happy?!) years on this earth.
One of the sad things about this is that I don't remember many of my memories. They are sometimes there, buried somewhere in the dark recesses of my gray matter, but only recalled when someone else does the recalling. So, don't take offense if I don't remember that you and I hung out in study hall one year, passing those intricately folded notes back and forth when the teacher's head was turned. It may take some jostling of the marbles to get me there, but if you hang on a bit you might get a nod and an unconvincing "oh yeah, study hall..."
I wasn't cool in high school. I was one of the long-haired, open flannel shirt wearing grunge kids who couldn't quite pull off the look of self confidence. But I wasn't really shooting for cool, so that's ok. Though I couldn't tell you what I was aiming for, because at the time (and still to this day) I had no idea what the hell I wanted out of life. Perhaps this ties into my supposed current midlife crisis situation. I think I'll just blame it on my school guidance counselor, who provided zero guidance, and the exact same amount of counseling. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up!
And I'm still not cool. Oh my kids still think I'm cool (how long will that last?), but what the hell do they know? I do try to be the funny guy at work. The guy in the factory who secretly puts googly eyes on everything. But you and I both know that move is kinda lame. That's kid stuff. I did propose to a guy in front of the whole plant at a shift meeting though. Embarrassed the hell out of him. That was fun. But that was like 15 years ago. I'm still running a machine at that same factory, still trying to figure out what I wanna be when I grow up. Not this, certainly. But I didn't have a clue when I was a kid, and I don't have any idea now. But I sure can't run a machine for the rest of my life. My body won't last a whole lot longer, and my brain is getting moldy.
My parents are getting old, right around 70. They've got their old people health issues. Reminding me that life is not infinite. I'm more than half their age now! Remember when your parents were in their 20's and you were a toddler? Me either, but it happened. They were like 10 times my age! And now here I am, slightly more than half their age. It's like I'm catching up somehow. At some point, we'll be the same age! I'll be really old by then. Thinking about what lies beyond this mortal existence.
I've been thinking about death lately. (I know, real funny stuff, right? Boy, this took a helluva turn!) I've been darkly fantasizing about how it might go down. Whether it'll be painful, or tickly. (Hopefully tickly.) Will I know it at the end? Will I understand that these are my last breaths? Or will it just be like someone suddenly turned off the TV, and there's just a brief flash of light that fades out to black? What's after that? Pearly Gates and all that?
(Or blood red gates, maybe? Who knows? I really did embarrass that guy pretty hard when I got down on one knee in front of all our coworkers and management...)
Or will I immediately become a fetus and take another crazy ride into another eventual mid-life crisis? Maybe this isn't my first one. Maybe this is just one in a succession of dozens of mid-life crises (is that how you pluralize crisis?) (And is that how you spell pluralize? Spell check has no idea what to do with this one) that go all the way back to the first one where I climbed down from a tree, stared blankly at the strange monolith, and wondered what the hell I've been doing with my short life up to that point. Or, maybe everything just goes dark. And stays dark. With no more thought. No more thoughts about thoughts even (or lack thereof).
That one scares me the most. The nothingness of it. But why should nothing be scary? It won't have a feeling. It's nothing. But that right there gives me the heebie jeebies. How can there be nothing? It's too big. Or, too small, maybe. Too... something, anyway. Absolute nothing... is too something.
I've heard they are resuming research on psilocybin these days. That's the chemical in the 'ole magic mushroom. They are giving it to terminally ill patients who are fearing the end. And it's helping many come to terms, somehow. I think maybe they should start a trial for people in their 40's, having their mid-life crises. So the last half of their lives can be pursued without the hangups of the... you know... mid-life crisis. Where do I sign up?
Maybe I'm just thinking about all this too hard. Maybe I should just shut up and watch the Matrix again. None of this is probably real, anyway. We are all just in some simulation. Plenty of signs of that, if you know how to read them. Saw a sign today, actually. I was discussing dystopian novels with a coworker, and Fahrenheit 451 was mentioned. The very next track's serial number we built ended in 451! (I'm not joking. It really freaked me out!)
So, here we are, at the end of this bloggy, having solved zero mid-life crises. Possibly caused a couple amongst my readers. If so, I deeply apologize. I think John Hopkins University is where you need to go. Good luck! Let me know how it goes. I'll make a trip out there soon, myself. In the meantime, my 42nd birthday is coming up in a couple of months. Perhaps a wish as I blow out the candles I can grant me some temporary peace.
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