They say it happens when you hit middle age. But I’m lucky. I’ve been worried about my status in society my whole life.

It wan’t until my thirties that I discovered the obvious truth that the whole thing is a put-on. Just like the BMOC is a manufactured fa├žade, the world of adults is one of aging children. We humans have the longest childhood phase of any species. Social scientists agree that humans aren’t psycho-socially independent until at least puberty. In America, you’re not a legal adult until you’re 18. And in reality, we’re all just a bunch of children. All of us. Even George Plimpton and Ruth Bader-Ginsburg.

So why did I worry? Because social cues informed me that at my age I should be a middle manager or an expert cinematographer or an established merchant. I’m none of those things. I’m a low-level salaried employee. A cubicle rat.

I should have finished college. I should have started a business. I should have written a book.

All these things are true. I have wasted opportunities. It was fear. Fear of poverty and homelessness drove me to work and work and pay the rent and keep my head down. So I did.

Like I said, I’m lucky. Most 40-something middle managers are on their third marriage and the verge of a psychotic breakdown. I’ve already had 20 years of their neurosis. I’ve already come out the other side.

And that’s why I’m happy. I have interests and friends and music and the occasional trip overseas. If I died tomorrow, I’d look back wistfully at my full life as a child. Which brings me to my point:

There is no script. The script is a lie.

Free will is just that. Unpredictability is the source of joy. Want proof? Here’s an image that illustrates the point:

I rest my case.

So, what am I going to do about it? Nothing. And EVERYTHING.

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