I’m writing this the day before my 54th birthday. A number that breathes midlife crisis. Or rather, at 54 years old, you’re on top of this mental reminder that life is finite, and that if there’s anything left to be done in life, time is running out. Tik tok, but for the over-50s… Now you have those types who say that you are as young as you feel, but those Xenos wisdoms are of no use to me at all. I often just feel like I’m 54, if not worse sometimes. I used to be able to walk well to be ready the next day, but not anymore. When I have lunch with wine, I want to sleep afterwards. I avoid busy parties. I’m getting more and more annoyed by everything, from small to large. Fat bikes, mini-cars, the Amsterdam city council, woke left, anti-woke Trumpian right, Diet Coke and Coke Zero (pick one!), scantily clad ‘influencers’, Tokkiesque PVV politicians, always that eternal same cheese sandwich on short KLM flights, Depay’s headband or Sylvie Meis’ latest flame who will never be a nice carpenter. I associate every bump with the harbinger of something terrible. I only want to see the doctor if there is no other option, knowing that she will find something strange and certainly deadly while I only come with a torn toenail. That’s how it always goes… “I don’t think it’s a thing, but…” and huppakee, you’re under the MRI. Fortunately, I have been working in the travel industry for a long time, which is pretty much my salvation. Regret that I haven’t seen enough of the world or haven’t had enough adventures is not an option at all. On the contrary. Traveling is my puppy’s nest, painkiller and tranquilizer in one fantastic cocktail. I then forget everything and enjoy everything I see in the foreign country with full force and that lovingly pulls me away from the Dutch routine. Recently we swam with sea lions, isn’t that what we do it for? That’s why I’ve decided that I want to keep traveling until my very last breath. Let’s face it, ideally you don’t take your last breath in a local hospital where your children walk away with the doctor or your possible last meal is a vegetarian blind finch with warm applesauce. No, never, we will continue to travel to one day, hopefully in a very long time, to be eaten by a hungry orca or to go down in an epic battle against a Grizzly bear and save 14 scouts from certain death. Is it allowed to be this way? Ah, the idea alone, it makes me feel better…
