I’m Having A Reverse Mid-Life Crisis: On Giving Oneself A Prostate Examination.
I turned 35 last week, and I’m pretty sure I’m having a mid-life crisis…
Only, so far as the first (presumed) half of my life was dominated by rascality, and slightly above-average — but wholly appropriate — delinquency (a prolonged stint of what a geezer or two might still call ballyhoo) my mid-life crisis has made me more… well, responsible.
“What’s being 35 feel like?” my little brother asked me.
“Fuckin’ old,” I said without hesitation.
I recently bought a dependable car — a Toyota Tacoma, which is a really badass, girl’s truck if you don’t know it (at 35 I’m still very much defined by my possessions, even if I have very few of them).
I’ve also been practicing responsible sexuality — abstaining from sexual encounters, gratuitous or otherwise. I explored a period of celibacy and sobriety. Sure, it only lasted a few months, but they were the longest few months of my life since I turned 18. At 35, I’m experiencing the greatest degree of sexual desire of my entire life.
Celibacy is for the fucking birds, and you can keep sobriety — I may be a professional Yoga teacher, but I’m first and foremost a Midwesterner.
Perhaps most shocking to me, I started craving a couple of really weird things (weird as defined by the narrow range of existence that I’ve yet lived)… things like stability… dependability… reliability.
I want to raise bees and have a family. I want to write books and contribute in a productive way to society. I still refuse to pay my income taxes — but, at 35, that might be the most responsible way I’ve found to contribute.
“What do you mean?” he could only wonder.
“Let me put it this way, bro…” I attempted to clarify, “My knees hurt from the time I wake up till the time I go to bed. I regularly pluck white hairs…from my ears. And I had to check my own prostate the other day…”
I proceeded to describe for him, in detail which I will spare you, about the time I was compelled to perform a self-prostate examination.
What a healthy prostate should feel like (soft and pliable) and, by comparison, an unhealthy one (hard like a walnut) — and never mind that I’ve never exactly palpated a fuckin’ walnut in all of my 35 years, much less not while doubled over with my accommodatingly long arm reaching through my groin and my first two fingers stuck fist-deep up my own butt…
Did I mention that I learned all of this on the internet? For, at 35, I’m already a crotchety old coot who refuses to pay for a number of things that he thinks are out to get him, such as American healthcare, tap water, and chemtrails.
“That’s a little bit what being 35 is like, bro.”
He nodded — the mind’s unconscious acknowledgement of that which it knows to be true but does not believe.
Then again, maybe he just wasn’t able to assimilate these details into his 24-year-old existence.
At 35, I’m just now starting to realize that I won’t live forever, that those closest to death should be the busiest living life, and that if I wear my hair in a mohawk, grow my own dope, and crash on a friend’s couch, I can avoid growing up no matter how old I may grow on paper.
But, what the fuck do I know? At 35, it seems like less and less…
I’ll spare you the rest — you wiser than me who know best, you older than me who know better, and you younger still who one day will.
Justin Kaliszewski is the revolutionary creator of Outlaw Yoga. An avid student, artist, and adventurer, he teaches across the country infusing a creativity and perseverance into his teachings, along with a distinct blend of humor and wisdom that redefines what it means to be an outlaw and a yogi. Author of The Outlaw Protocol: how to live as an outlaw without becoming a criminal, you can find him on Yoga Download.