So here I am now, freshly-skinned (ew that sounds nasty) and ready to roll. Welcome to the new digs, compliments of Kelly at Nello Design.
Yesterday evening, while doing the evening ritual of tooth-brushing/face washing I happened to notice something in the mirror--I've got wrinkles. They've been there for a while, but I just officially Saw them last night. This morning I Saw them again. That's the difference, you see. I SAW them, not just noticed them and kept going. And before you freak out and call an intervention down on me, no, I'm not going through a mid-life crisis.
I am at that point, however. I've lived to 38, and am balanced carefully on that hilltop. I'm at the age where more than a few men sense the inevitability of life and go insane, emptying out their savings accounts and cashing out the 401(k) so they can go buy a new Corvette, hair plugs, gold chains, and order a case of tan-in-a-can so they can move to Florida to pursue some sort of mythical Eternal Spring Break. No, I'm not one of those guys. My mid-life crisis came and went last night in the space of about four minutes, inbetween trimming my beard and peeing.
I can see why some men go crazy, though. It struck me last night and again this morning that, were I to decide to focus on it, my life is now half over. I've reached the mid-point, the top of the hill. Everything else is, metaphorically, down hill. And the anger, I can see, comes from the understanding that the entire first half of your life was spent learning how to deal with life; how to make friends, how to work, how to plan and make goals. It's all been about the How of life, and not the Living of it. I guess the next half here is all about Living it. Beats me, honestly. I've been living it all along, this is just an interesting point of reference, really.
So no Corvette for me in the future, no spray on tan, and no galloping off to Florida to find some bubble-headed blonde half my age to make me feel young again. I never stopped feeling young, you see. I've felt like this since I was about 20, and seem to have come to a coasting stop around that point. I always feel like burping at the table, always feel like making strange noises, and I have never gotten over the itching need to yell in church.
And quite frankly, I like it.