Existential Angst

If one were to look for an underlying, intertwining theme in my writing, I think it would have to be 'angst.' But for those who may read this and have no idea who I am or what years I have lived, I should confess that I am sixty years ... of age. Neither young nor old. I have lived on this earth for that number of years plus some days

Angst is more tolerable when one is a teenager. Charming, at times. Most definitely expected. Sexagenarian angst just doesn't so easily roll off the tongue. It would, no doubt, be obnoxious if not for the philosophers who saved those much like myself by supplanting the word "teenaged" with the word "existential."

Existential Angst. Now, doesn't that sound better?

I am most heartily delighted that the existential field of philosophy was invented. One can get away with sounding just like one knows what one is talking about - just by adding one word. Existential.

Existential angst. An hours long intellectual discussion plus months and months - maybe years - of therapy are summarized in those two words. And the really great thing is, the meaning is so vague, no one dares to question too deeply lest one should appear less learned.

So, here I sit, wallowing in my existential angst, eagerly anticipating the evening shadows that lend a certain sophistication to the next glass of wine. Because wine too early in the day would be, well, gauche.