The night before submission time

And as usual, I’m a little nostalgic.

It’s that feeling of tremendous relief mixed with a bit of sadness and a tinge of nostalgia. That we never had enough time. That we could have done things a little better. A lot better.

Maybe I’m getting old.

And everything is so confusing right now. The speech I had been so enthusiastic to write, is now an albatross around my neck. I find myself unsure about the MSc. About leaving The Job. About basically everything. It’s like being paralyzed from doing anything out of fear.

In two months it’ll be another year. When I’m not even done making sense of this one. How to live like a zombie numbing oneself to everything, or leave everything and not caring a whit about anything?

Is there a method without madness? I don’t know.

I suppose everyone deals with his mid-life crisis his own unique way. I don’t want to look back and be that guy who lived a life of ‘quiet desperation’. And yet there’s something to be said for good old stability, right? Marking at Ed’s, gym three times a week, Friday dinners with V, reading, following my shows, the occasional forays to Above&Beyond sets, and…what? What earth-shattering contribution have I made in all this routine? Starbuck’s biggest fear is ‘to be forgotten’. But isn’t that everyone’s existential fear? Even you with the 2.5 kids and the dual income and the choice between upgrading the car or the condo.

Does it mean that just because I’m not meant for a suburban lifestyle that I need to make some earth-shattering contribution, to feel needed, useful, able to make and leave a lasting legacy?

It’s a mid-life crisis all right.

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