I'm thirty years of age but that hasn't stopped the last six months feeling like the start of my mid-life crisis. The only reassurance is that my father's own crisis continues, ten years strong now, so surely that means that mine CAN'T have started yet. For that would defy the laws of physics.

It feels like every waking moment I am distracted by a desire to be doing something else. Anything. And it is a huge distraction. Sitting in meetings at work, I am looking into the eyes of my colleagues whilst my mind is projecting something else entirely onto the backs of my retinas. Sometimes I panic when the daydream is interrupted by the words "what do you think?" directed squarely at me. How many bad decisions have been made as a result of me covering the tracks of negligence with a simple "sure, I agree"?

But wtf exactly am I supposed to be doing? What is this thing that gives me butterflies in my tummy yet has no name? I flirt between passions - I'll be a writer, I'll be a photographer, I'll learn Microsoft Excel inside out and write programs for people. Whatever it is, it'll definitely make my life great and save me from this daily humdrum. And it needs to start today.

Whether it's lunchtime trips to Borders or sneaky worktime browsing of Amazon, my bookshelves have gradually filled up with instruction manuals on how to get out of here. "Start Again in Australia", "Learn in Your Car: Japanese", "Promote Your Music Yourself".


Then I realise this is how it's always been and face the possibility that this is the way it'll always be. Not knowing. My mid-life crisis is just my life. I may have been more conscious of it during the last six months, but that says more about the twelve months which preceded them. Maybe that was my crisis? And now I'm just myself again.