I think I am at that legitimate mid-life crisis stage where the existential part is supposed to jab me in the face or punch me in the stomach. Maybe it’s supposed to be multiple punches, multiple days a week. Should I be thriving on the taste of imaginary blood in my mouth?
I am 38 years old; I have a solid career, no wife, no girlfriend, no kids, no pet, no mortgage. Freedom.
Some people in my life say that they’d trade places with me. They want to live through me. The usual sentiments. I hear them loud and clear, but why does my situation feel like discontent?
Should I rewatch the Secret Life of Walter Mitty?
Should I go on a transcontinental hike or walk the Camino de Santiago?
Am I overdue for an actual solo trip? That last Mexico trip was great but not what I’ve been chasing: interactions with other solo travelers. A stranger’s introspection.
I’ve enjoyed having this type of conversation with a much older friend of mine from my community to which she will sometimes respond, “you’re too old to be thinking this way.” My words not hers. Maybe we are due for a catch up.
It’s just a phase. Will it be over soon?
graveyard shiftin 