I haven’t written much lately. Frankly, I haven’t had a lot to say. But the other day, I was in a weird funk; something I’ve written about before but has weighed heavily on my mind:
I turned 41 about a-week-and-a-half ago. I lost The Old Man two-and-a-half-months ago. Needless to say, it has me thinking about my own mortality. A LOT lately.
I am The Human Bomb.
Of course, I’m not suggesting that I am the World War II era comic book character, or his modern day successor. But like Captain Picard says in “Star Trek: Generations” I’ve come to realize that I most likely have fewer days ahead of me than I have behind me. And that sucks.
The Old Man was 67 when he died. That means if I live no longer than he did, I have about 26 years left on this Earth. That scares the hell out of me.
I’m not dying or anything. Hell, I’m not even sick. I feel better than I have in a long time. Aside from the time I was working out a couple years ago, I probably feel the best I’ve ever felt in my life. The truth is, I feel like I’m just getting started. Divorce is the great reset in 21st century American society and I’m happier than I’ve ever been. i want A LOT more than 26 more years with The Auteur and the family that we’re building together. There’s just so much I still want to do in this world.
I’m reluctant to use the expression “mid-life crisis”. I’m not about to get a sports car. I’m sure as Hell not about to leave my family. But maybe it’s time I start on my Bucket List and crossing things off of it.
As I stated in previous entries, I’ve never been a person to say “this is mature, that is immature,” or “I’m too old for this, I’m too young for that” but it seems as Year Forty draws closer, I’m getting more annoyed at maturity level of – not so much friends of mine – but friends of friends of mine.
One thing I have always prided myself on is my choices in friends. My friends and loved ones are people for whom I would lay down in traffic. I can say with a certain degree of confidence that they would do the same for me.
I get. People change as they get older. I’m sure if really sat down and thought about it, there are a lot of things that I did ten years ago that I wouldn’t consider doing today. Staying out all night, getting drunk, the immature drama that people are subjected to by people who are not worthy of being called friends. Nothing real specific here: I’m just noticing things that would have seemed important to me a few years ago are, quite frankly, really immature.
Even when The Auteur, Phred, The Old Man and I went to Opening Day last week: A few years back, I would have gotten hammered before the game. This year I hardly even drank.
I know this is all just coming across as me bitching – and it’s probably is – but it’s been on my mind for the last few weeks.
Have I finally reached a point where I consider myself to be an adult? Is it possible that I’m coming to terms with my adulthood while simultaneously experiencing a mid-life crisis?