Middle-age is a rough place to be. In your mind, you “know” you can still fly down a mountain with two planks strapped to your feet, throw a wicked overhand breaking ball, and run a 10K…the whole thing…without stopping! But your body knows better.

You have gotten too fat to bend over and strap on those ski boots, you tore your rotator cuff (for the second time) and insurance won’t pay for a shoulder replacement until you are 70 (because they don’t want to pay for another), and your back won’t let you sit up in bed, much less run a race.

Unbeknownst to you, your body has secretly divorced your mind and has won everything (i.e., you) in the settlement. Your mind now only gets you every other weekend and rotating holidays.

Your childhood friends have come to town and you go out, mindfully intent on pulling an all-nighter of partying for old times’ sake. You start out strong with a round of tequila shots followed by a couple beers. Then suddenly out of nowhere, only about two hours into your quest, you are hit with “the yawns” and an overwhelming feeling of drowsiness. It is only 10:30 PM, but all you want to do is get home and crawl in bed. What went wrong?

Per the terms of the divorce decree, your body showed up right on schedule to pick you up, just when you were beginning to have so much fun with your friends, who are clearly disappointed that you have to leave so early. In an instant, your mind’s every-other-weekend (and your play date with your friends) has come to an end! Another 12 days with the body before you get to see your mind again.

Middle-aged men often start acting out of desperation… the Peter Pan syndrome… where they change careers, buy sports cars, and pursue younger… whiskey (’cause the aged stuff costs too much).

They also pursue younger women (where you actually thought I was going in that last sentence, right?). Younger women have not yet learned the manipulative and self-centered behavior of a lot of men so they are in high demand. Plus, they can be content with a burger from Red Robin.

Middle-aged women are wise toward men and all of their shenanigans so the men avoid (run from?) them rather than be called out on their selfish and shallow ways. The flight is real, folks.

This is the time when men begin shopping for toys: muscle cars, boats, motorcycles. Do you know what all of these things have in common? They are all designed to take you somewhere away from here, to a place called “there” (as in “not here,” as in the secluded cabin in the middle of the Sangre de Cristo mountain range).

But middle-aged men are not struggling alone. Middle-aged women also have their issues. Sometimes they can be bat-guano crazy (sorry, this blog is from a man’s perspective. Maybe next time I can dig way down deep and write it from my inner female perspective)!

To demonstrate, watch just five minutes of any Real Housewives episode. The city doesn’t matter, whether Beverly Hills, Dallas, New York. They are all crazy! Except Atlanta housewives, who are crazy with southern charm…and New Jersey housewives, who may hire a hit on someone.

Of course, hormonal changes can present a real challenge for you ladies. My wife is going through the big change, which actually has a secondary effect on my boys and me. We live in Las Vegas where it is 110 outside, yet I generally wear a padded hunting jacket and flannel pajamas while working from home as my wife combats hot flashes! You know things are bad when the electric company sends you wool socks as a thank you gift for being one of their best customers.

In the winter months, we sleep with the windows open when the temperature can drop into the 30’s at night. I have seen the thermostat in the hallway reach 49 degrees on multiple occasions. This is when I add a stocking cap and fingerless gloves to my standard office attire as I sit and work at the keyboard; and I have been known to wear a racer’s head sock to bed to help keep my face warm.

So navigating middle-age is not for the faint of heart, assuming you have committed to the long game and have not opted to run off to South Florida with your twenty-something girlfriend in your red corvette…after swinging by Red Robin, of course. Yum!