People often wonder when they are going to die. It’s a morbid thought, but it’s human. I’ve had the same thought, and I think I’ve figured it out. Me? I will die at the age of 82.
I know this for a fact, because I’m 41 years old right now and I’m just starting my mid-life crisis. If 41 is my true mid-life, it means I have another 41 years to go. You have to admire those guys who have their mid-life crisis in their fifties – those guys get to live to be over a hundred. Lucky jerks.
The reason I believe I’m in my mid-life crisis right now is that I have no passion for anything. My primary goal when I get up each morning is to stay alive long enough for me to get back to bed.
It doesn’t help that I have a mountain of work piling up in the home office, waiting to be taken care of. Radio shows to be recorded, stand-up comedy to be written, articles to send out, mailings that need to be done, TV appearances to prepare for… stuff that anyone living in the right side of their brain would love to do. As for me, I don’t even have the strength to take a shower. If it weren’t for deadlines, I’d spend the entire day with the television’s remote control in one hand and a microwaved slice of pizza in the other.
Stereotypically, the biggest indicator that you are in a mid-life crisis is to go out and buy a sports car that you’ve always wanted but can’t really afford. I doubt my credit score would allow that to happen though. Plus, I’m too frightened of what my wife would do if I were to show up with an all-original mint-condition 1957 Chevy in the driveway.
But I still have the desire to spend money. In the past two days I have spent close to $1,000 on video recording equipment that I don’t know how to use and a guitar that I don’t know how to play. Before buying these things, I was under the impression that I “had to have them.” Now I look at these things as simply creating more work for me. More stuff that I “have to do.” Two more things staring me down, daring me to pick them up and do something useful with my life.
Come to think of it, I might die at the age of 80 – because earlier this year, before my 41st birthday, I had the unflappable urge to buy a new BoFlex, and an elliptical machine. They too sit here next to me in the home office, staring at me in defiance. Shout all you want, you torture devices – the coffee pot shouts louder, and it causes no muscle pain or shortness of breath.
Hmm, I guess I do have a passion. It’s coffee. Perhaps my life will be alright after all. With enough coffee, maybe I’ll find the energy to tackle all of that stuff I need to do until this mid-life crisis of mine is over. If not, well, at least it will keep me awake long enough to check the TV schedule and order a pizza before time for bed again.