upcoming

In two weeks I turn 40. I sure haven't been thinking about it at all. Not one bit! I mean, 40--what's the big deal? It's not like it's a milestone birthday or anything like that. It's not like it's the exact dividing number between youth and old age.

I remember when I was in high school, my dad decided he wanted very badly to get a red convertible and--less egregiously in retrospect, though at the time it seemed on a par--a suede jacket. He was closer to 50 then, but even as a kid I understood these impulses had something to do with that whole getting old/wanting to stay young dialectic.

Each of these purchases, and especially the two in combination, would have made him look like the quintessential JAP dad I so despised. You know the one: he's got tassled loafers and a cigar and a wife 15 years his junior, a daughter who wears a Rolex watch, which he gave her for her 16th birthday. Ewww.

Thankfully, I was able to talk my dad off that particular psychosocial ledge. That's because he valued my opinion more than anyone else's; I was kind of his wife. (You can read all about that in my book, which I won't link to because there's already a link over there, in the sidebar I'm modest about my accomplishments.) And that was the extent of his midlife crisis. Really, other than that one little blip, he was very graceful about getting old.

It's difficult to imagine what kind of mid-life crisis might emerge for me in these next couple of years, and how it will manifest. I've been entertaining an obsession with dying for a few years now. I'm already counting my wrinkles; I'm already panicking about the effects of gravity on various body parts. (Oh my god, my kneecaps are a disaster!) Besides, my entire adult life has been a string of crises (identity, faith, career path, hair color); what could I possibly do to top that?