“I’m a perfectionist And perfect is a skinned knee…”
– Midlife Crisis, Faith No More
So I just turned 35. Fuck.
I’ve been making a big deal and badgering myself for the last couple of months with this looming in the distance. 35 is middle-aged. The point where perhaps the years ahead of you are not so many as the years behind you. When it’s impossible to be cool. When you are no longer the future of this world. You are the status quo and soon you will be the antiquated. This is your life, and it’s ending one minute at a time.*
It feels bad. Mind you, my current status quo is pretty sweet. I am here and it feels like a good place to be. But I wanted more. Didn’t I always? Like I mentioned in my New Year’s Resolutions, I think there’s still this huge space available in my life where I should be making new memories. I have these stories of my youth and I really don’t want to live the rest of my life without having more stories. So one day when I’m 45 I can sit around with my friends and talk about the stories from our thirties.
Last night at my birthday party we were running horoscope natal charts on each other and something from mine stuck out with me: “your private fantasies are more appealing than the reality around you and it is difficult for you to leave them.” Truer words about me are rarely uttered. This needs to stop. Seriously.
I’m buying myself a new laptop. I’m going to edit my novels. I’m going to write my short stories. My late twenties will be when I practiced and got to know myself as a writer. My early thirties will be the time I got used to writing my own original work. My late thirties will be when I really put myself out there.
“Because the plot thickens every day
And the pieces of my puzzle keep crumblin’ away
But I know, there’s a picture beneath”
– Falling to Pieces, Faith No More
* from the film Fight Club