M is for middle. Middle of the road, middle
aged, middle of a muddle. It’s a word that should have all kinds of nice
balanced overtones, but it seems mediocre somehow. There’s a definite neither
here nor there connotation about the middle. Who wants to get stuck in the
middle of the stream? Once you’re in the middle, going back would be just as
tiresome as just keeping on keeping on until you make it across. So if we take
a leaf out of Lady Macbeth’s book, being in the middle means you’ve bloody well
committed yourself now!
Alright then, we’re only half done. But
it’s been a good first half I think. Middle ground is a good place to rest up
for a moment and take stock of the game so far. There have been losses and
gains, and there have been some crazy booboos and some flashes of brilliance.
Half-way mark is a chance to reassess and perhaps make some changes to the
plan.
Then again, I’m not so sure nowadays, where
the middle is supposed to start. Middle age used to be the forties, but I’ll
bet your average forty year old in this Invincible Modern Western World would
flatly deny that. Forty is mature youth. So I suppose fifty must be the magic
mark. Then again, life expectancy has increased, and anti-ageing strategies
promising health and virility despite the tally of years are leading us to
believe that we are going to make it to immortality one day soon. And then
there would be no middle....
Until then, let’s peg it at fifty. My condolences/congratulations to those who have crossed the line ante immortality. Never reaching the end could get old...just how many re-runs of I Love Lucy can any person stand? I am all prepped and ready to enter those golden gates of middle age myself next birthday. So is my favourite cousin. We are planning a celebratory escapade commensurate with the bodacity of such an auspicious anniversary.
Looking around, I needn’t worry. The local
papers are advertising activities for fifty-somethings like rock climbing, pub
jiving and parachuting. Facebook keeps flashing pictures at me of topless,
ripped, greying dudes in dating sites that warn young women not to apply. The
middle is already being swept neatly under the carpet. Fifty is senior youth.
I’m cool with that, going to keep on rowing, in fact I’ll put my name down for
some white water rafting.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily... life
is but a dream...
Mmmm, being stuck in the middle of a dream
ain’t so bad..
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| http://www.thenorthernlight.com/news/article.exm/2011-07-20_flying_high_ |
