Society is telling Glenn Smith he needs a podcast. Photo / Unsplash, Will Francis
There was a time when a midlife crisis was refreshingly straightforward.
You hit an age or glanced in the mirror, noticed the tide was going out on your hairline, the belly was expanding, and went straight to the car yard to buy a red convertible.
Maybe you threw in a toupee for good measure (not always practical in a convertible). Crisis solved.
Today it’s trickier. Toupees are out. Everyone’s gone the Jason Statham route and shaved their heads.
And sports cars? Too many airbags and reversing cameras to look dangerous.
Even the engine noise is fake, piped in through the speakers like a Spotify playlist called “Vroom Vibes”.
Instead, the modern midlife crisis accessory is a podcast.
Forget horsepower and chrome. What you really need is a microphone, an ego, and a logo with your name on it.
And that’s the existential dilemma for the middle-aged bloke.
According to Instagram, I should either be training for an ultramarathon or launching a podcast.
The ultramarathon looks painful (one word: chafing), so maybe the podcast is my MX-5.
But the bigger question is, what on Earth would I talk about?
There are about four million podcasts already.
Every topic has been done: murder, wellness, history, more murder, celebrity interviews, and, you guessed it, murder.
Even podcasts about other podcasts.
I’m sure there’s someone out there right now making a series on why yoghurt always expires the day after you buy it.
The thing is, podcasts have become the Swiss Army knife of identity.
Got a hobby? Make it a podcast.
Had a mildly interesting chat at the pub? Podcast it.
Even celebrities want one. As if starring in movies, writing books, and running gin companies isn’t enough, they also need a weekly show about their Labradoodles.
So where does that leave us ordinary midlifers, with no gin empire or labradoodle?
Up the midlife crisis creek without a podcast or a convertible, that’s where.
So yes, apparently I need a podcast. That is what society says, and I am listening.
But what to talk about?
Do I go interview style?
Trouble is, my most famous contact is Barry from the pub, and he’s not exactly Joe Rogan material.
Although Barry will happily tell you he could have been an All Black if not for his knee.
Or a Formula 1 driver if not for his inner-ear problem. It is always something.
Barry is therefore resigned to pub chat, and the world will never hear the full saga of his thwarted greatness, unless you are at the Elwood Pub on a Tuesday.
So, do I go solo monologues?
But who honestly wants to hear me ramble for 45 minutes about the array of grunting noises I make every time I bend down to pick something up? An ever-growing soundtrack.
But before the midlife crisis podcast idea sinks completely, I have sketched out a few other options that might fly, like a tin balloon.
There’s S#!ts & Giggles, where I strike up conversations with whoever’s in the next cubicle.
Topics range from deep life regrets to whether pineapple belongs on pizza.
Flushes edited out because no one needs that.
Or Boomer v Technology, where each week I attempt to turn off the torch on my iPhone without knowing how I turned it on in the first place.
It takes 45 minutes, ends in swearing, and usually the phone is hurled on to the couch in frustration.
Critics would call it “relatable content”.
Then there’s The Passive-Aggressive Neighbourhood Watch, where I narrate suspicious suburban activity.
“Someone left their bin out on the wrong day. Again. We investigate.”
True crime meets recycling schedules. Just add a title, and it could be a Netflix series, Only Recyclers in the Street.
And my personal favourite, Biscuit Chat.
Each week, I sit down with Kate Kerr, biscuit connoisseur, and argue over New Zealand’s finest biscuits, with special focus on the Christmas sampler box.
Hours of heated debate over whether the pink ones actually taste of anything and why they are always last to be selected.
Spoiler: the Cameo Creme always wins. No one knows why, it just does. Her rules, not mine.
And then there’s my audiobook project, Where’s Wally.
“Not Wally, not Wally, not Wally, not Wally, not Wally, not Wally, not Wally, not Wally, not Wally …” for seven hours.
Listeners dropped off fairly quickly.
But here’s the real trap with a midlife crisis.
It isn’t the sports car, or the podcast, or even Barry’s dodgy knee.
It is that nagging sense you need to prove something.
Prove you are still relevant. Prove you still have a voice. Prove you can edit audio on GarageBand without accidentally deleting the entire internet.
The sports car used to say, I am still cool. The podcast now says, I have still got something to say.
Whether anyone listens is another matter.
Which makes you wonder if the two crises were always the same thing anyway, one noisy, one chatty, both equally unnecessary.
So maybe I will not start a podcast after all.
Although if one does mysteriously appear, please subscribe, rate and review.
Five stars only, it is my midlife crisis, not yours.