Eastern Aquatic Exploration or The Plural of Crisis

When we are young it is a mad rush to choose what defines us. Out to make our mark on the world and separate ourselves from our forebears, we violently grasp onto whatever it is that feels unique and stokes the fires. This is done with gusto.
Lately I have started to feel the pangs of not being young. Much of it is the realization that what I chose to shape part of my life is no longer an active ingredient. I have been breathing through an earlier period when I dropped just about everything else to pursue this self-defining activity. It ends up being a cute bit of relativity. This pocket of time by which I have continually measured myself is getting shorter and shorter as the years are added to my life. This youthful defining thing, while still psychologically entitling me, is no longer an activity at all, just a reminiscence.
I suppose thats what people call a mid life crisis. Men go out and buy fast cars and women get boob jobs. Some healthier ones lucidly take stock and move on, knowing that the rabid bite of the vernal statement is no longer necessary.
While I think such crisis can hit at any moment, I don't think I can count myself quite at mid-life. Yet here I am feeling these stings of loss usually associated with a little bit older model. I'm not sure if I am lucky for getting it out of the way early, or whether I am setting myself up for far too many crisis in life, but I will tell you one thing: I could care less about fast cars, I just need to start surfing again.