A few days ago I had a birthday - a benchmark. The start and beginning of a unit of time that is used to define my life. I don't actually feel badly about it even thought the number of years I've been on this earth are getting into the triple digits (that's a joke, slowpoke).
Today I saw a video on youtube that was passed from someone in their twenties to someone approaching thirty to a couple of us who are well into our thirties, myself being more well into my thirties than anyone else in my office. The video is a song filled with jokes.. it's funny enough, poking fun at all of things average Americans pout about in their thirties. The main things seemed related to accomplishments. I'm not going to promote the video, so find it yourself. There are probably hundreds on the same theme.
I think that the word 'accomplishment' has a very dark connotation for a lot of people when their birthday rolls around... much like I dread Christmas when I haven't got any dough. I suppose it's like anything. The deadline comes and the work isn't complete, and the five year plan requires an extension.
Success and accomplishment certain gain steam as priorities when you get older and realize that those bowling trophies of yours don't shine as brightly as they once did and every car you've ever owned was was either a gift or a P.O.S.. By the way, how's it running these days?
NOTE: The best car I've ever own - a gift - was a teal Chrysler LeBaron like the one in Freddie Got Fingered.
NOTE2: I don't currently own a car. I'm planning to buy one in about a year when I can get a little scratch together.
(I don't actually care much for cars, as much as my childish side thinks owning an exotic supercar or a 1970s muscle car would bring me happiness)
As a chronic malcontent, I sympathise to an extent with the people who get well into their thirties and think, "What have I don't with my life? I'm fat. I don't like my job. My car/house/family are boring."
As a chronic malcontent, I also understand that the bar scene/barbecue scene/church picnic scene can be unsatisfying, even if that's what you look forward to while you bust a hump at that job you dislike.
But even to the greatest extent that I am a chronic malcontent who is well into my thirties without having become any kind of person of note, I am unsympathetic to much of the whining I witness in popular culture. Your existential crisis is not interesting for others. That is why it is an existential crisis. For me, it's like reading other people's poems. I'll write mine. You write yours. Just keep yours out of my face.
As a chronic malcontent, I have to report that all things considered (new pains, lack of notable accomplishments, lack of financial success), I'm feeling pretty content about my age.
And it feels weird to realize this.
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