As a kid, I could never envision being older than 23 or 24. I guess it was either an unhealthy fatalistic outlook for an 11 year-old, or the fact that the concept of being an adult is unfathomable at such a young age. Either way, I've made it to 38; a 9-iron away from "forty."
I'm not anxiously awaiting a mid-life crisis. I wouldn't know one if it hit me, though I've been preoccupied with mortality lately, and am entertaining ideas of running a marathon (just to say I did) and getting my teeth straightened. Is that the manifestation of a crisis? Perhaps.
I can't afford a fancy new sportscar, nor am I intereted enough in automobiles to embody that cliche. I also love my wife too much to dump her for a 20 year-old trophy (and all the work and money involved in the process isn't worth it). Either way, I'm just content with being a dad, playing an obscene amount of hockey and picking up the dog sh*t in my back yard.
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