Shouldn’t I be having a mid-life crisis or something? I am a married, heavily mortgaged home owning, drone-job working, multi pet owning, mid-forties white man. Shouldn’t I be feeling boxed in by my responsibilities and want to run free in a semi-naked state on some always sunny idealistic beach with a brainless 21 year-old bimbo while I pursue my new stimulating creative career as a metaphysical therapist?
It’s just plain weird but I think I am the exception to the rule. I am pretty much happy and content in my life. Maybe it’s that I just do not look good in a bright yellow Corvette or that I have never had any tolerance for 21 year-old bimbos or possibly I was born without the ‘vain’ gene that causes some men to suddenly start using large quantities of male beauty products at the first sign of a wrinkle. (I guess here is where I must confess to using a matte finish moisturizer for my shaved head…aaaaaaaaaaaaa… I use ‘product’!!!! I hope the ‘sensitive’ male is still more popular then the macho bad boy he-man. I could never pull that crap off. I like cartoons, books, and crosswords too much.) When Rogain first came out my buddy Eric and I did the ‘I’ll try it if you try it’ thing. We both got prescriptions for it. After a month I grew a little peach fuzz but I started feeling silly and vain and soon after discontinued.
The truth is I am happy with my life. Mind you it is not perfect but what do I really have to complain about. I ran around like a maniac for 39 years. This settling down stuff is just not that bad. Sure I suffer from the occasional ‘grass is always greener’ moments but I remember the deep loneliness of my past. Sitting around a bar after a couple of beers I can pull out dozens of fun exciting stories from my past (the funeral home outside of Warren Ohio comes to mind but I will save that story for another day) but what I always remember as I wax (hmmm wax makes me think of that funeral home again) nostalgic about my somewhat crazy less then normal bachelor days is the intense isolation of my nomadic past. No matter whom I was with or where I was I always felt a bit lost.
These days I feel good in my skin. Things feel right. Of course I am always afraid to say stuff like that; sure enough if I let that phrase leave my face I will no doubt get run off the road on my way to work by a pig farmer’s truck which will careen off the road next to me filling my convertible with it’s smelly snorky contents. Then when I call into work to say I’ll be late due to being shoulder deep in hog and hog byproduct they will tell me not to come at all because I have been replaced with a dancing monkey and horn tooting seal (the combo might not be able to do my job as well as me but it would sure be a hell of a duet to watch). Then I will walk home only to discover that my house is about to be torn down to make way for a bypass (and I do not know anyone named Ford Prefect to save me from the obvious imminent destruction).
I think my wife worries that one-day I might wake up with the ‘I’m wasting away my life in this rut’ feeling. I just don’t think so. I believe I have gotten all the running around out of my system that I need to. A couple of times a year I zip away for a weekend to Vegas or football game with a bunch of old friends. It is always a wildly fun bash and a great mini reminder of my past craziness, but it always feels good to get home afterwards. I guess that is actually the key. For 16 years I never truly felt like I had a home. At the risk of sounding like Moses after wandering around for forty years in the desert (dude should have had a compass then he might have split the sea and gotten the tablets before anyone had a chance to even think about making an idol… not to mention a couple of decades less of unleavened bread would not have sucked), I have found my holy land. No wonder I am pope of the house (see entry from 5/9/07)! The only crisis I expect to face in the near future is trying to explain the Warren funeral home to my wife when she finally gets around to reading this blog.