Crises and things.

All I'm saying is that I'm not sure if this whole mid-life middle-agia is that bad.
You hear people talking in hushed voices about (mid-life-crises). It's absolutely horrible. It's something that makes you dye those greys and buy a cabriolet. Get a partner who's twenty years younger than you to keep your juices flowing.

From where I'm sitting, it doesn't sound like a very bad deal.

I'm in my twenties. I know a couple of your people out there are as well. Aren't the twenties a bitch? Good. Everything's in place then. Romance and wine and dine and dance about the teens if you will as well, but if I recall correctly- and I try not to - they weren't a walk in the park either, they were this awkward run to the finish line and System bolaget and the promise of a drivers liscence that never seems to have come, and the option of buying smokes, which you probably did, because, heck, you're 18. And pretty darn stupid. And whoop there it is, the twenties, and you're still pretty stupid. Hooking up and shacking and shagging with other stupid people because it's all part of this...system.

It seems to me that every age comes with its own crises and life threatening (bad hair days, worse hair days, no hair days) situations.

Where will you be in ten - twenty years, and will it be you who's depressed over having to buy a new cab and and will it be you who's looking back at the golden age of the twenties thinking "Ah. Those were the days." Because if that is you, then you're a moron. A moron who's terribly terribly wrong to boot. So much for the wisdom of ages. Look at you. You've hit fifty, and you've accomplished nothing except delusions of post-grandeur and greatness.

Why all this?
I'll tell you. Life changes. Changes, and changes, and changes.
A bad hair day and a pimply arse might not be troublesome at fifty as when you were twenty - especially when you've got receding hair and an concave bottom (ho! Wasn't here yesterday!) - but having four kids and no hope for the future for the approaching sixty-something greyzone, well, it has its equivalent, and it has appeared at every age. From twenty to forty to Cleopatra to you, baby.