Midlife Crisis

I will be 38 very soon. Some might say I look it, others less polite that I don’t, because I look 20 years older. They’re twats, but it doesn’t matter.

When I turned 30, I found I began to care less. That doesn’t mean I stopped caring altogether, or that I stopped experiencing fits of anxiety over various things, but that having realised I was old enough to be taken seriously while being young enough to be up-and-coming, and having been around a while and seen some things, I was beginning to be comfortable (enough) in my skin to not worry about trivial matters such as peer pressure and looking ‘cool’ (and since true cool is about not giving a fuck, my coolness soared by default).

So, being almost 38, I don’t really care that I look like a burned-out trampy mess. I’d rather spend time and money on doing stuff than on clothes and preening in front of the mirror.

Therefore, it may be because of my age or it may be because of the times and the culture, that I’m fed up of emotional depth. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not insensitive, and music and films and writing with emotional depth still move me, when well executed. But I’ve no time for all this heart-on-the-sleeve, bleeding-heart, introspective emotionally-wracked tortured soul crap any more. Artists who feel every heartbeat, and agonise over every exchange between themselves and the many individuals who have a high emotional impact on them, for whom every conversation involves trawling the depths of their souls and agonising over their every move…. I simply haven’t got the time.

Forget this creative soul, artistic genius bollocks and move on. Get a grip and get a life. It’s quite possible to have resonance without picking at the scabs on your navel and sharing with the world at large the minute details of your tempestuous relationships and near-misses and all of the other ephemeral emotional highs and lows that punctuate or even define your otherwise dreary life. Because that isn’t life: it’s five minutes of your life, and no-one else cares. Least of all me.



And if you’re loving my work, there’s more of the same (only different) at Christophernosnibor.co.uk