Why, Me?
Or more specifically, why Why, Me?
I’m not having a mid-life crisis.
Just to be clear, in case anyone I know in real life is reading this. Don’t panic. I’m not panicking. I’m planning.
I’m only 36, but I’m aware that mid-life crises can strike early these days. As someone with a melancholic streak and a penchant for pondering, I’m at high risk.
That’s why I’m trying to get out ahead of it. If I ask myself the toughest existential questions now, when I am calm, relatively happy and 100% panic free, I might just be able to dodge it.
When I decided to write this new blog, I had a hard time coming up with a name for it. I knew what I wanted it to be about — asking myself questions and digging deep for the answers — but I couldn’t quite capture its essence in a neat little title.
Q&A was a bit lame, and it was taken, anyway. It is the name of an Australian television panel discussion program that covers news and politics. The questions aren’t bad, but often the answers have the depth of a Hallmark card. That’s politicians, I guess. Whatever inner turmoil is brewing underneath their fake smiles and patronising responses rarely sees the light of day.
Digging Deep was a little better, but could easily be confused for a mining newsletter or a porno with dirty moles.
I had to ask myself again, why did I want to write this? And more specifically, why write about me?
‘Why me?’ is the question billions of people in Earth’s history have asked themselves when tragedy has struck.
‘Why me?’ they have asked, when a rogue woolly mammoth squashed their pet stegosaurus.
‘Why me?’ they have asked, when their bullet-riddled plane plummeted towards a piece of ground two narcissistic despots were arguing over.
‘Why me?’ they have asked, when that nincompoop waiter served their smashed avo on rye instead of pumpernickel.
But I had no intention of creating another why-me-woe-is-my-life-fate’s-a-fuckin’-cruel-bitch moaning rant blog. I’m sure there’s enough of those already. And I’m trying not to insult fate so much this year. Just in case, you know.
Instead, I wanted to focus on the curiosity that drives us to question not only the world around us, but the world inside us too.
By adding a comma after the ‘Why’, (And speaking in a pompous British accent — not entirely necessary, but highly recommended) the question shifts from anguish to mild incredulity.
Try it now. (Aim for your rising intonation to be sharp but not shrill.)
Because that is the question that has befuddled thinkers and philosophers throughout the ages.
Why am I here?
What is my purpose?
What is that beautiful house?
My God, what have I done?
(Ok, that’s four questions, and the last two were the Talking Heads, but they are vastly underrated philosophers.)
For many religious people, the question doesn’t bother them. They have a purpose pre-supplied from a book or a priest or a twenty-four hour pay TV channel that rallies against all the sins except wealth accumulation.
Of course, many religious people do still ask these questions. But as I see it, the certainty of an existence after this one reduces the consequences of not finding an answer.
I’m not a religious person. I was raised Catholic by my mother, while my father remained steadfastly agnostic. After years of watching him sleep in on Sunday mornings while my brother and I were shuttled off for early morning church services and even worse, the dumbed down boredom of Sunday ‘school’, I realised two things.
The first, was that despite his constant forsaking of worship, he was yet to be struck down by lightning, plague or flood. (Although there was one time when the toilet bowl overflowed and caused water damage to the skirting boards, but he blamed that on me ‘lodging a turd the size of a pregnant anaconda in the u-bend’.)
The second, was that he was able to maintain a loving, respectful relationship with a woman I admired more than any other.
That is the type of relationship I would like to maintain with the world — and myself — while I ask those questions. I don’t want to shy away from religion, politics or any of the ‘controversial’ topics, but I don’t want to get bogged down in the dogma either.
There’s nothing worse than getting dog bogged.
And while I attempt to answer those questions, I’m under no illusion that I’m the most interesting person in the world. There is a dude who can climb stairs on his head. I can’t compete with that. The only stairs I’ll be climbing with my head are the metaphorical ones to enlightenment.
As long as I don’t panic and fall off into my looming mid-life crisis. That I’m planning to not have.
Wish me luck!
Best of luck 😃