A Third-Life Crisis

So I like to think that I’m a third through my life, if all goes according to the plan I hope fate has laid out for me (ok, maybe more than a third). I’ve been catching myself having these thoughts about the situations I've been finding myself in lately. Kind of those existential thoughts like: am I really having brunch as a couple with a couple? Are we really considering playing “family feud” - husbands against wives? Am I really having this conversation about how lovely the cheese spread is at this co-worker holiday function?

I feel like I’m sometime living out an episode of Seinfield or How I Met Your Mother. “You guys should come over for dinner, we can even open a bottle of wine and play charades.” “Hey, shmoopie.” “No, you hang up…no you…no you.” I’ve never been accused of, nor have I ever felt that I have acted my age. I physically look younger than my chronological years, and I’m pretty sure you would not accuse me of being overly mature for my age if you spent more than 5 minutes around me. I like to think I just got a late start on life – starting my ‘career a mere 5 years ago, recently married, and purchased a home about a year ago. I’m not complaining mind you, I will never be mistaken for someone who likes to rush into things. But I think I draw the line at stereotypical. My whole life and every essence of my physical being is stereotypical – white, male, middle-class, college-educated (I’m finding that less typical than I once believed), about 6’ tall, average American kid of divorced parents and enjoyed playing sports growing up.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy spending time with others…sometimes, you know, hanging out, having a drink, watching a game, or even just a nice conversation. But I just don’t think that I’m “that guy.” You know, the one who is the husband of the friend of a friend that you approach at a wedding/neighbor/holiday party and strikes up a conversation about how do you know so-and-so? What line of work are you in? Hey, we should get together sometime and discuss trying to get you into a new Lexus, then hands you his card – Sales Representative, Toyota/Lexus/Scion Dealer. I guess that’s why I’m not in sales, hey, more power to them.

As I experience this, and many more situations like these to come, I worry that my mind will betray me and I’ll be unable to control my inner-dialog – which typically leaves me fighting off laughter. This might be an early sign of a serious psychological disorder. (deep breath) Serenity now.