Turning 45 tomorrow.
Found myself listening to Ben Folds songs, starting with “Still Fighting It.”
Spent all day working to finish the remodel on what will be my daughter’s bedroom.
Decided to make a blog post. Then decided that I didn’t have the internal resources to do it, felt like I didn’t want to confront what I was thinking or feeling.
Came to make the post anyway.
Don’t actually know what I’m thinking or feeling. If there was a therapist here they would say it’s because I’m in denial and need to access something or open up and get in touch with or some stupid nonsense like that.
In fact, I don’t know because there’s not one thing, there are a million things. Like:
- How can I be 45?
- Isn’t it bad to be 45 and be alone?
- But I’m not really alone, I have my kids, right?
- Ah, but will I always? I have an ex that’s a wildcard, and also they’ll grow up, no?
- Isn’t it bad to mention kids in a discussion of not being alone? Seems harmful, right?
- But can I really stand to date anyone? Haven’t I generally found that I hate it and that the people out there are shallow?
- But does that matter?
- Do I want to have better birthday plans than I have?
- Do I like my life as it’s played out, or do I hate it?
- How many years do I have left?
- Do I care how I feel about my life? And if not, why not?
- And is that question too meta to have any meaning?
- And how do I feel about the weeks stretching into months stretching into years stretching into decades on the work treadmill?
- But isn’t that what everyone ends up doing?
- And is there really an alternative anyway?
- And don’t I actually appreciate the job that I have and the accomplishments I’ve made?
- And isn’t this too many rhetorical questions? What does it mean that I phrase everything in terms of rhetorical questions?
- What does it mean that I ask what it means?
- Should I go to bed right now and have an early night, or should I stay up late and read a book?
- Won’t I regret it tomorrow if I stay up late and read a book?
- Has that ever stopped me before?
- What happens to the souls of your childhood imaginary friends once you stop imagining them?
- What do I feel about turning 45?
That’s as far as I’ve gone so far, seems to be a brick wall. But now I can be satisfied that I’ve made a post, scratched that particular itch, and it wasn’t all that bad.
I think turning 45 is somehow much more psychologically disruptive.