Maybe a Midlife Crisis Is When You Finally See Things Clearly

'If you listen real close, you can hear them whisper their legacy to you. You hear it? C-a-r-p-e...  diem... Seize the day boys. Make your lives extraordinary.'Good ol' Mr Keating—you may remember him from the mother of all student flicks, Dead Poets Society. If you don't, that's probably because you're a spring chicken and so you don't remember the year 1989. Or you're an autumn chicken stuck in a midlife crisis who at the time preferred a juicy rerun of sausage enhancing Porky's. But I was thinking—what if a midlife crisis isn't a crisis but a period of sheer enlightenment?

I've always been impartial to the teachings of O Captain My Captain.
Be an individual. 
Live life to the fullest. 
Know with every fiber in your body you're not here to stay.
It drove the first love of my life cuckoo, nuts and completely loopy. She said, 'Go to hell, you blue bastard!' Exit Nancy. (Harrrr!) Enter what's-her-name. (Why, hello!) But in the end I didn't know a single thing. Not one iota. Not really. It was all theory at best. I was... a spring chicken.

But when you're starting to feel your mortality, you decide there's no time for shyness, no time for bullshit or Blue Tits. Just blunt honesty. Boot Camp. I like it that way. And when a student unabashedly makes me blush telling me my fly is open again I just say, 'Blushing is great. Blushing is wonderful. It makes a person feel alive.' It always catches them a bit off guard.

What I'm trying to say is maybe a midlife crisis is a good thing. Live life to the fullest the way you should've done when you were 25. Live and love. And go to my sex boot camp.

Now I know what you're thinking, Jaya J... 'Blue is getting soft. First he's talking about going to Superman with his gramps when he was eight and sweet (Blue, not his granddad), and now he's talking about blushing and his open fly. Where's the rugged cowboy that once rescued me from the evil claws of the dark blue ocean that I hate so much?

I guess it's just one of those days. Could it be I'm finally in touch with my feminine side?

P.S. Maybe the mother of all student flicks isn't Dead Poets Society. It's American Pie. And maybe—just maybe—Blue Tits do kind of look like this when that crisis comes a-knockin' on your door. 

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