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Pique n' your interest

The almost-at-mid-life crisis, Whistler style

At a party recently, friends of mine asked me to explore a well-known issue (via this column with Bob’s approval) that many of us have faced or are facing at this exact moment in time: the almost-at-mid-life-crisis. Like the common cold, it binds all of us 20 to 30 something-year-olds living here in our little big town of Whistler. Unlike the mature version that can possess the psyche of a 45 to 70-year-old to go club hopping in a shiny new Miata, ours is an inner turmoil not yet fully ripened. Bear with me. I provide more questions than answers in the following paragraphs.

The almost-at-mid-life-crisis can be cyclical in nature and has the ability to arrive in various forms. Characterized by sudden pangs of self-doubt and an aggressive over-analysis of absolutely everything, from your current job/relationship to your increasingly empathetic connection with a reality TV personality. Skiing/riding may not be filling you up as much as it used to, debt quietly choke-holds your monthly pay cheque, paranoia strikes, relationships/friendships may crumble… and suddenly Whistler feels like a very small place.

Theories abound: Is it a cyclical thing that comes in stride with seasonal work? Is it the ups and downs of living in an idyllic yet very real and raw environment? Is it burnout from our raging terrain and after-terrain raging? Is it boredom from having roamed the same cobblestone walkways and proliferating franchises thousands of times? Being the eclectic resort town mixed with sub-cultures and even more underground sub-cultures, how many of us are collectively mixed up, messed up and put in a head lock by thinking too hard about what is deemed "successful"? Perhaps the seasons sneak up after several years and spiral into one. Suddenly you wake up __ years later in your __th living space, __ full seasons as of December 19__, five jobs and 20 contract jobs later with one heavy thought on your brain: What the F___ am I doing with my life? Of course when the sky is grey, you're bored and/or if you've injured yourself early on in the season, thoughts tend to worsen.

Most of us "locals", whether you have lived here full-time for 12 months or 20 years, can list a melange of trades and jobs: "Hi, I'm Bob. I'm a DJ/ patroller/ administrative slave/ go-go dancer/ waiter/ engineer/ cook/ writer/ herbalist/ pro-skier/ gas pump attendant/ dog sled guide/ florist/ sheep shearer/ personal trainer/ computer geek/ painter/ carpenter/ skater.…" In order to stay here, a lot of us have to shift into different personas from hour to hour, day to day and year to year. This can be interesting yet ever-confusing. Or is it that all of us have ADD? Do we spread our multiplicity of talents and interests too far and too thin? If this is the case, then I would postulate that our almost-at-mid-life-crisis is defined by livin’ it up and livin’ large – and there ain't nothin' wrong with that.

For the most part, crisis mode loosens its grip on the neck of our cognitive processes. After all, the majority of us were introduced very early on to the gritty reality of day-to-day adversity during our first 10 years of school and recess hell hosted by Billy the Bully and the Under the Bridge Kids – adversity being an obvious understatement. Regardless of my own Bambi-falls-down moments in life, I thought that by the time I turned 28 (still such a young peach) I would have my shit together. Not that having my shit together was ever defined by a puffy white dress and a husband with Ken-hair because that's just freaky, but I was quite certain that I would be grounded. "Being grounded" seems to be a common phrase thrown around these days and personally I think it's being overused. I hear it all the time. "Oh, she's so grounded", "I just need to be grounded", "If I just made a bit more money I'd feel wayyyy more grounded." We intermingle between various workplaces season to season, sometimes returning, sometimes not. We travel the world and depart from Whistler feeling that the answers to our restless spirit will be resolved somewhere on a beach in Maui only to discover 10 heat blisters and $2,000 later that we are still very far from the ground. The almost-at-mid-life-crisis could be the mourning of this alleged birth right to "groundedness", the false reality drilled into us by one too many Brady Bunch episodes: A job that we skip to in the mornings rewarding us handsomely every two weeks – just for you being you, an Eternity ad relationship with chiselled features and black and white freeze frames of laughter, a killer lifestyle spent alongside a Mediterranean coast line on the back of a Harley (okay, the last one’s more like Fantasy Island), all rolled into one, 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Nice, but lacks edge and is just a little too perfect.

Our friends out East don’t seem to have it dialled either. I'm generalizing here, but their conventional sense of "stability" is defined by three pillars: a "comfortable" income, marriage at 21 and a mini-van. Don't worry, I'm not going to get over-hippyish or beat up on Ontario dwellers because a) I was born in a South Eastern Ontario hockey town and will not deny my roots and b) I happen to like Ontario for its flatland qualities. However, most of you reading this already know that any kind of pillar can quickly become a facade. Money and an oval shaped Chrysler do not guarantee happiness. That's why you live here. Perhaps the almost-at-mid-life-crisis is a hyper-awareness of this. It’s an acceptance of where you're at no matter how awkward it feels. You know you are very lucky to have what you have, it’s just very easy to forget this.

I haven't figured it out just yet and I have a feeling most of us don’t. Mainstream dialogue perpetuating the Universal Quest for Happiness has messed us up, and in the end it has absolutely nothing to do with Whistler. Whistler has taken a lot of hits for what is actually missing in most people's mind-set and attitude on this planet: being content with the small things and living authentically. Trying to define happiness through one single moment, a wave of highness, a consistent melodic hum or a soundtrack following you in between places is not real. Not even in our little joyride of a town. So for all of you nomadic, multi-talented, moody, independent, low to middle income, 20 to 30 something-year-old adventurer types, stand up and repeat after me: "I heart Whistler and Whistler hearts me."

Now go and do some yoga.