Passing through the belly button of a midlife crisis

By Vic Albornoz Lactaoen

JAKARTA (JP): Oh, the joy of weekends! ... I had the luxury of time available to spend lazing around in a pile of pillows, scratching my head and wondering if eating seven meals a day could be considered an acceptable form of recreation.

Fatigued from four hours of staring at the ceiling, I had tried repeatedly to rise to the occasion of each hour passing away. But I seemed to be bolted down to the mattress. At first I blamed it on gravity, but it was much graver.

"Just how old is old and how young is young?" I said, in contemplation. A friend of mine, in a moment of utmost resignation, captured it all. He said that there are really three phases in life. The first is when you have all the time, all the energy, but no money. This is followed by that stage when you have all the energy, all the money, but no time. The last is when you have all the money, all the time, but no energy.

Yes, that's the process of aging. Nope, there is a more politically correct term: going through life's irreversible process.

So many discussions, so many theories and even more firsthand experience about midlife crises have been immortalized in books and woeful conversations. Sure, you know you've hit middle age, not by your manic refusal to reveal the number of birthdays you have had in this lifetime, but when your bulging midriff ceases to qualify as baby fat.

You know that you've gone past the halfway mark when almost every year you have to go to the ophthalmologist to have your eyes examined. You have lost the right to be called a "young adult" and simply sink into the category of "responsible citizen".

But what's so bad about aging, really? Everyone -- from ordinary mortals to well-known celebrities -- must undergo life's charted course. Apart from the fact that you no longer have the gall or stamina to last an entire night standing and trying to look sexy and available in the bar at O'Reiley's, B.A.T.S, Salsa or Tanamur, it isn't really that bad. If you can go on with your life without being obsessed with menopause, hiding traces of a receding hairline and a widening forehead, or being accused by anyone 15 years younger of being a "breathing museum piece," then you will be all right.

The only pain comes from the options you have missed out on, or when you start fantasizing about the big "ifs" in your life. "What if I had gone that way and not taken this route?" "What if I had decided to be a professional bungee jumper or an MTV VJ, instead of being this urban couch potato, whose idea of a good time is watching DVDs, alternating with cable programs, on weekends?"

The even bigger pain follows when you start trying to regain lost time, attempting to regain the irretrievable, and consciously go into mental and social denial. No amount of scientific miracles, workouts or cosmetic operations can bring back that all-too temporary pleasure of being young and reckless. Any attempt to look, behave like or become someone 20 years your junior is an exercise in futility. If you haven't realized that the fountain of youth is as real and true as Santa Claus, then you should go and see another kind of doctor, very very soon.

What is wrong with savoring all of your years? By the time you hit 40, you are old enough to know how bad it can get, but still strong enough to hope for the better days to come. If you have a well-functioning mental system, you have learned the rules of most of the games in life - whether in business or romance. You have come to accept that there are as many faces as there are assholes. It is only a matter of knowing which side of the person to see.

You are familiar with all the subtle shades of gray -- comfortable with the fact that the world is not, and can never be, subdivided into black and white. You can smile at the thought that life is unfair. And you have convinced yourself that you can't have everything.

Sure. At a certain point, all the factory defects start to emerge. You begin to bond with your relatives about the diseases inherent in your clan. You become extra-concerned about blood pressure, uric acid and cholesterol content, and start taking a strong interest in subjects as vital as lymphoma, colon or breast cancer, and Alzheimer's disease. You actually experience more enjoyment watching a documentary of a penguin giving birth at the North Pole on the National Geographic channel, than enduring an MTV special on the making of Backstreet Boys' latest video.

These are things a 20- or 30-year-old never thinks about. These are issues that flaky, air-headed, handphone-crazy, mall prowling nymphets with their belly buttons on full display do not consider as part of the universe. You begin to frown upon the shortcomings of youth ... But, good heavens, what you would do to regain the original status of hairline, waistline, or even consistency of facial skin!

Suddenly you want to simplify. You begin to wonder whether all the fiery ambitions burning deep inside you are really worth all your conscious hours. Yeah, sure, life is lonely at the top, but the food is better. But it is at this point that you can no longer ram just anything into your mouth -- because that oh-so- delicious Padang food can already cause slight dizziness or heaviness around the area of the nape.

Even bean sprouts or a ceasar salad can give you an attack of gout the next morning. You ask yourself if you really need all these shoes, suits and an overabundance of earthly possessions that have defined who you are or how far you have gone.

You seek programs to help you get in touch with your inner self, because you want to be at peace, not only with the world, but also with yourself. The enlightenment period begins when what was once all too important suddenly becomes just plain foolish. From plunderer or philanderer, you suddenly turn philosopher, and everyone begins to secretly ask questions if your family has a history of mental disorder.

Ah, but then all these consolations and reflections seem so insufficient when the truth about your mortality hits you right smack on the face. Worst is when you feel an attraction for somebody younger. And at that certain point in your life, you realize that about 70 percent of the attractive population is considerably younger than you are.

If they like you, then you either play deaf/mute/blind or rummage through your knowledge of amateur psychology. It is either they want something from you (definitely not your mature body) or they are looking for a parent figure. If they don't give you a second thought, then it is because that is the most logical thing.

As you add more candles to your birthday cake, your choices become fewer, but not necessarily of lesser quality. Acceptance, my dear, simple acceptance of the law of natural selection can give you the peace of mind you yearn for.

But you still give yourself a week or two of feeling absolutely miserable because you know the object of your affection attaches a very polite "Pak" or "Ibu" each time he or she speaks to you. What is worse is when someone you pine for starts calling you "Paman" or "Tante". Note the character portrayed by Kevin Spacey in American Beauty and you get a clearer picture of the rut you are in.

But then you are only as old as you think you are. Life can be made more miserable if you become fixated on numbers: savings in the bank, cars in the garage, returns on investments, rates of interest.

Age has got nothing to do with the wrinkles on your face, but the spirit with which you kindle your heart. Wow! That really sounds like a lot of bull! But then, being old is nothing more than setting limits to yourself, conforming to the idea that you have to fit into a mold that hypocritical society has set for you.

Provided you are past 40 and avoid dressing like Madonna or Leonardo de Caprio, then you are still OK. As long as you are willing to learn and experience something new, despite and because of your age, then you'll never stagnate.

Yeah, sure. As you grow older, you are expected to mellow. But then, like a fruit, when you mellow, you eventually rot. So opt to be a happy fellow. It is true. Life indeed begins at 40. This is because you understand life better when you have gone through enough and still want to go through more.

The experimentation of the 20s and the drive of the 30s should prop up the wisdom of midlife. And all the while, the lesson meant to be learnt was never that complicated. It is we who have tended to complicate the message.

Put simply: You can't have everything. But there is no harm in trying.