Riots in Egypt.  Melting polar ice caps.  Hive collapse.  The aftermath of the Haitian earthquakes.

These are the crises that plague our modern day world.  Then there is the crisis that I myself am more intimately familiar with – the Mid Life Crisis.

Chronologically I am pretty much bang on if I am ambitious enough to hit my late 80s.  And I have decided that I am going to make a spectacular old person, nattering endlessly on with stories of little interest to anyone but myself with no discernible beginning or end, starting every sentence with the phrase “Kid’s today! …” and foisting pictures of my cat on unsuspecting strangers.  Hell, I do half that stuff already.  But this mid life point certainly brings some interesting revelations.  I realized with some shock that I have spent well over half my life in the same job, and am concerned that I will pass gently through the latter half of my life with nary a ripple on the surface of the world.  And how does one combat such fears?  I have employed a raft of professionals to drop weights in my hands and chase me around a track,  drop colour on my hair and otherwise buff me into a reasonably taut version of my aged self.  I continue to (perhaps inappropriately) squeeze myself into clothes designed for someone who may in fact enjoy the musical stylings of a Justin Beiber over say, Trent Reznor.  I have taken a great leap and moved to a place where I know virtually no one in the hopes of introducing my version of the career on which I have toiled so diligently these past decades on a new and responsive audience.  And lest all else fails …

I bought the damned convertible.

Mid life crisis.  Mid life, certainly.  Crisis?  I am not sure.  Are they supposed to be this fun?

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