Feeling washed-up and unsettled before you’ve even hit forty, let alone fifty? I mean that moment when you realize your children and your clothes are about the same age? He, the person is usually depicted as a “he” –sorry Eve–, turns off the alarm, disheveled stares into a bowl of soggy cereal, puts on the same shirt a tired-looking suit and goes to the office for more of the same forlorn routine. And so it continues until one day, usually the day he’s starting to lose his hair, he goes ape: Wants to see how irresistible he still is to younger women, and bangs his secretary, quits his job –always in this order–, and says: Here comes forty. I’m feeling my age and I’ve ordered the Ferrari. I’m going to get the whole mid-life crisis package. And we all nod, acknowledging the inevitable: He’ll win an Academy Award for American Beauty or he’ll make the “habanos” and Monica Lewinsky famous. But the idea that mid-life crises are common is a myth.
And I don’t cherish the cliché mid-life crisis. Frankly. The fact, for me, is thicker. Different. Deeper. Most people by the age of twenty, know they’re not going to be a rock star. By twenty-five, they know they’re not going to be a dentist. And by thirty, darkness starts moving in, they wonder if they’re ever going to be fulfilled, let alone wealthy and successful. By thirty-five, they know, basically, what they’re going to be doing for the rest of their life, and they become resigned to their fate… It’s not me, not really; but, I mean, why do people live so long? What could be the difference between death at fifty-five and death at sixty-five or seventy-five or eighty-five? Those extra years… what benefit could they possibly have? Why do we go on living even though nothing new happens, nothing new is learned, and nothing new is transmitted? At fifty-five, our story’s pretty much over…
So… See, what are we meant to do when we are there, forty-fifty, that misnamed mid-life crisis, buy a fast car, aren’t we? Well, I’ve always had fast cars. It’s not that. It’s the fear that we’re past our best… the gray hairs are not passing, but we’re trying to age with dignity. Dignity or vanity? Careful here, this obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it in. We turn our hearts to rocks and more or less commit a murder of the marriage, I did, guess who… hey she was asking for it !… I just don’t know, but we do. Lupine creature, don’t call it softly mid-life crisis. Everyone goes lunatic a little bit around the crescet of life… ‘cause we are much over. That’s all.
Crisis, what crisis? – By Dugutigui