The midlife crisis is real and it’s not spectacular
Welp, I needed an economist to tell me why I’ve been a steaming hot mess for the last few years: It’s because I’m miserable.
But fear not! This misery won’t last. In fact, it’s on the upswing. I’ll be whistling a happy tune in no time. Why? Because I’m older than 47.2 years, which, according to a study by Dartmouth College professor David Blanchflower, is the precise point when humans in developed nations are at their absolute peak of despair.
More good news: People in undeveloped nations aren’t fairing much better, as their peak of “oh come on!” hits at 48.2 years. So yeah: The midlife crisis is real, and it most certainly isn’t spectacular.
In fact, it’s downright laughable how Blanchflower completely nails it.
In his study, published by the National Bureau of Economic Research, he writes (cribbing this from the) that unhappiness consists of “despair; anxiety; loneliness; sadness; strain, depression and bad nerves; phobias and panic; being downhearted; having restless sleep; losing confidence in oneself; not being able to overcome difficulties; being under strain; feeling a failure; feeling left out; feeling tense; and thinking of yourself as a worthless person.”
I swear to you, I hit 11 of those 16 items and it’s not even 10 a.m. as I write this.
My biggies? Ooof. Here we go … Anxiety: Everything makes me anxious short of sitting completely still in a silent room, and then I get anxious about that.
Phobias and Panic: The coronavirus will kill me. That is running through my head on a loop. So that’s fun.
Restless sleep: This one sucks. All of a sudden, getting three straight hours is a miracle. I’m trying CBD oil. That’s insanity.
Feeling tense: My shoulders have found a new home. They routinely touch my ears.
I could go on, but this is making me feel downhearted, and I can’t imagine it’s doing much for you.
Except …
Well, except nothing. I was going to go on a rant about what a jackass I am, how I’m lucky, all that stuff, but you know what? Nah. I’m gonna wallow in the misery for a few more paragraphs.
It really makes sense, this midlife crisis thing. For starters, there’s the looming spectre of death, which - I’m told - is pretty final. I mean, I’m 48, which means I’m almost certainly past the halfway point, and (gulp) probably well past it, considering the average U.S. male lives to be 78. Statistically, I’m 61.5 percent toast. If my life started on January 1 and will end December 31, today’s date would be August freaking 11. (Excuse me while I stick my head in the toilet for a few minutes.)
Then there’s the sense of “is this it?” As in, well … as in exactly that: Is this it? That’s disturbing.
Plus there’s the just the regular old stressors, like money and family and kids and their health and job security and all of that. Ugh.
Except …
OK. I’ll bring this despair to an end.
Except when I take a small step back and get out of my own head and witness the world around me, the good, the bad, the ugly, and the beautiful … plus all the good shows on Netflix and HBO … plus a dog’s excitement when you come home … plus daily fantasy sports … plus the wonder of it all … well, you get the idea. It may be half over, but it ain’t half bad.
Carry on.