Musicians have their own way of doing things, and a mid-life crisis is no exception. Allow me to tell you the story of two men, both loosely based on people I have actually imagined up in my head.
A man graduates college. He gets a desk job, benefits, 401k, and a mortgage. He dons a suit, cuts his hair, and then spends 10-15 years going back and forth between home and work, listening to talk radio and reading Seven Habits for Highly Effective People.
Then, one day, the man wonders what’s become of his life. What has he amounted to? Is this monotonous routine how he will be measured when he dies?
So the man makes a shift. He buys some jeans. He grows his hair out. He puts drums and amps in his garage and buys a sports car. He fires up a MySpace page. He starts bungee jumping or some other hobby that threatens to raise his health insurance premium.
And he feels young again. Like the world is full of opportunity, and he is content.
Another man almost graduates from college. He joins a band, buys some gear, a van, and rents an apartment. He dons some jeans, grows his hair our, and then spends 10-15 years driving around the country, listening to indie radio and reading Rolling Stone and The Hobbit.
Then, one day, the man wonders what’s become of his life. What has he amounted to? Is this sporadic meandering how he will be measured when he dies?
So the man makes a shift. He buys a suit. He cuts his hair. He pulls the drums and amps out of his garage and buys a minivan. He fires up a LinkedIn Profile. He stops base jumping and any other hobby that has kept him from qualifying for any sort of health insurance.
And he feels young again. Like the world is full of opportunity, and he is content.
