I’m going through what the scholars might call a mid-life crisis. When I was younger, my parents led me to think of the term as some kind of a joke. “Honey, Ray¹ bought a new Mercedes. What’s he need that for?” or “Did you see Jim’s toupee? How does he think nobody notices?” The discussing parties always inferred ridicule as they inevitably brought up the mid-life crisis as the cause and effect.
It never really occurred to me that an extravagant purchase or a dramatic change in one’s appearance is not something to be belittled. This time in an aging person’s existence is an honest to god, severe situation. They got it right at the beginning anyway, with the name, but the meaning became diluted, making it easier for people to handle, maybe so the average person didn’t lose their entire mind and fly off the actual deep end.
The realization that your life didn’t turn out as planned, as hoped for, or even very well. With medical advancements and the ingrained societal practice that equates every death to a murder, they’re not even letting people die anymore.
I’m writing this from a plane. Yesterday I quit my job, left my husband, and found myself at an international airport. Now I’m on my way to Bangkok. The only three people that know all of these things are the stewardess with the annoying fake laugh, the jerk who wouldn’t give up his window seat to a lady in the middle of her life, and myself.
I considered setting up a hidden camera in my house so I could see the look on his face when he found out I wasn’t picking up a pizza for the kids before then heading home, but there wasn’t really time. And I couldn’t face the possibility that I may run into one of the other occupants of my house during the installation. I can’t look at any of them anymore. I have a useless kid. Two useless kids, really, but only one of them is really useless. The other one just sits there, not being useful but not not either, you know.
I know half of my son comes directly from me, and I know he grew up in a house with me, so I tend to receive a lot of the blame for his uselessness, but it’s a lot easier for me to abandon my whole family if I blame him, and all of my other problems, on their father. With the disgusted glares he gives me any time I pour a scotch, he ruined alcohol for me. That cannot be forgiven.
It still didn’t occur to me that I could just leave them though. I was at work yesterday, in the mid-morning, sitting at my desk contemplating nothing. Glen from accounting or human resources or my boss popped his irrelevant face in front of my doorway, MY doorway, and told me he was leaving for the day. I was a little confused why he thought he should tell me. Maybe I was his boss. I’m not entirely sure. Either way, it triggered me to decide I was also leaving for the day, so I put my coat on and walked right out the building. I stood on the sidewalk under the awning for about twenty minutes. Sure, more likely it was probably three minutes, but enough thoughts passed through my mind in that span of time that in order for you to believe me I have to say that it was longer. Passers were going by without any notice of me. One of the women, a young professional devouring an energy bar, reminded me of myself at a younger age. I wanted to yell at her to run away, but she’ll need to figure it out on her own.
The next image I see is that of removing my passport from the glove locker of my car, while in the extended parking lot of an airport in a different city. The stewardess and seat neighbour from earlier, after hearing the same detail, both found it oddly strange that a woman who has never left the country keeps her passport in the car. I overhear someone correcting me to their friend. Oh right, she’s a flight attendant now. Doesn’t really have the same ring to it. Eradicate the offensive at every opportunity. And when we lose stewardesses, what will overtake it as the longest word that can be typed only with your left hand?
“Baby, oh baby I miss you. I wish you could come with me. Don’t worry, it’s only a month. I’m doing it for us. Come over for your birthday? I’ll buy you the ticket to come visit. For a couple of weeks? Just a couple of weeks. I don’t want to leave you like this. I want to be with you. I’m doing this for us. Yeah, I was talking to her before I left. She’s scared, as usual. Babyyyy. It’s going okay, but I miss you. I can see you. Haha, no I can’t. I wish I could. I want to hold you, to kiss you. I told you to give me all your lovin’ before I left. The same thing happened last time, you didn’t give me enough kisses so now you want more. I didn’t have much time to I just grabbed a couple of pretzel dogs. Go to the doctor, you have to get that checked out, while you still have the good insurance. I know, but you know when it’s going to come back. It’ll come back in June. Just go now, we have to deal with it. We’ll work through the rest.”
This continued for a few more minutes, but I didn’t think I needed to hate my plane neighbour any more than I already did, so I put my headphones back in and hit play. I half laughed to myself, finally letting the absurdity of some part of my brain to creep into my appearance. My husband never let me watch anything with swears in them, because we had to protect the kids. I’m not sure what armour was being constructed around them, but I don’t recall having a say. In my own house, I couldn’t sit down and watch a movie. I used to speculate on which dictator he most resembled. He’d be standing up, watering plants that were already dead, and he’d turn around and ask me what I was thinking about. “Oh, I was just wondering how come the postman always puts our mail in the wrong slot, when it’s so clearly marked.” That was never what I was thinking. Why would I care about something that has such a small effect on my life? But he’d agree with me. Maybe to be polite, but it was really because he actually cared. So in personality, Papa Doc Duvalier. In appearance, because of the square head, big ears, and dull eyes, I’m sticking with Stalin.
If Papa Doc and Josef had a love child, because of some advancements in either time travel or cloning and in gender reassignment and in social norms, that story would make the front page of most newspapers. It might even push Robert Patterson’s new haircut to below the fold. But luckily, no matter how distressing the front page, you can always turn to E11 and see Henry and his bald, pear-shaped head saying doing nothing at all and entertaining nobody.² Raise your eyes slightly, and Andy Capp will be there perpetuating stereotypes and hating his mother-in-law. Look to the right, and you will be faced with the arduous task of turning an OKOB into a BOOK. A little higher than that, Heloise will tell you to water your plants, and the stars will tell you how to win the lottery.
Like the bottle of scotch I bought while waiting in the terminal, I am now duty free. Free as the second item in a solid bogo. Before last week, I forgot about a life free from responsibilities, that not letting others view me as an inferior was even an option. I blame the money. But I haven’t been happy since my savings account hit one thousand dollars. I haven’t not been sad since it passed a million.
Something reminded me of the way it could be. Well, someone. More specifically, the something about someone, on the bus I had to take because I let my oldest borrow mine. A man in a suit looked happy to be in it, secure in his place in the world. He chose, intentionally or not, the right path for him. A lot of people crave the stability and grow fearful as life becomes more interesting. Then I looked down at myself. That ended my robotic version, snapping me out of a long term membership in a club I never agreed to be in.
¹ [a neighbor, probably]
² [Editor’s full-disclosure note: This website also publishes Henry+Garfield.]
[Author’s full-disclosure note: 90% of this was written years ago, and I gladly acknowledge it’s garbage and ain’t got no flow, ya kno. Some of the parts I removed were half gross or just unnecessary.]