Hope Springas Eternal

Several of us are approaching a time in modern life commonly expressed in negative terms. Midlife crisis seems so harsh, really. Richard Ford talked about "the existence period" in Independence Day, as protagonist Frank Bascombe moved through his mid-40s in "the condition of honest independence" following a divorce and reordering of his life. I always found that a little melancholy, to be honest.

No, we need something else for our not-yet-but-we-can-see-it-from-here-over-the-hill gang. A modest proposal from me, then. In the spirit of youth being wasted on the young, I call for a reimagining of social norms. I call, my friends, for adult rumspringa. Or as Whitney knows it, life. Apparently it will involve karaoke.

I'm still working on the details, so I could use a little help. Our bodies can't take the fast life like they used to, so we probably need to limit the duration of our sabbatical from the real world. Amish kids get two years. We don't really need that much.

So let's say we get a 90-day break from the real world.

Our companies have to give us our jobs when we return, but they don't have to pay us while we're away. While I'm still waiting to hear any of the candidates in tonight's Democratic Presidential debate mention it, this seems like an excellent opportunity for the Federal Government to test Universal Basic Income for middle-aged people. We could take an advance on our Social Security to finance our alternate reality. The Gheorgheverse ranks among the generally fortunate, from a socio-economic perspective, so we've got to figure out how to make this public policy work for everyone, or it's one more privilege that we'll need to check.

Airlines and other travel entities will offer discounted fares for springers. (That's what they'll call us. I'm working on it.) Those of us that are married or in relationships can bring our significant others with us. It's not The Purge, you jerks. And we're not looking to sew wild oats, just mild oats.

Like the spring breaks of our youth, there will likely be concentrations of springers in warm, laid-back places, but they'll have better accommodations - Japanese toilets, for example. And we won't have to sleep 2-3 per bed, unless we choose to do so.

The bands of our youth will have permanent gigs. Hell, Whit and I just saw Elvis Costello and Blondie, and they still sound good. For the metalhead set, Bang Tango and Faster Pussycat are still touring. Just bring earplugs.

We're so much better at eating now than we were then, so the food had better be good. But not too rich. Maybe a plant-based springer package, then.

Reading back through my thoughtfully constructed proposal, I realize that I've basically described a very pleasant, if short, retirement. Ah, fuck it. If you can't say it, you can't do it.

Did I mention that springer haunts will play the movies of our adolescence.