(Or, How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Python)
THE MID-LIFE CODE CRISIS
THE MIDLIFE CODE CRISIS:
(Or, How I Stopped Worrying and
Learned To Love Python)
Fueled by sheer determination, strategic nootropics, and just a hint of existential dread, one man embarks on a journey to rewrite his future—one line of Python at a time.
Chapter 05: What Would Zack Do?
A cinematic deep-dive into how childhood mythology, nostalgia, and a long-overdue Zack Snyder revelation led to a breakthrough in learning Python. From the sanctity of lore to the quest for better learning tools—what would Zack do?
Zack Snyder’s Office(concept)
I don’t remember everything I did on June 14th, 2013—exactly eleven years, eight months, and three days prior to this writing. But I do know what I wasn’t doing: standing in line at NYC’s Alice Tully Theater, ticket in hand, for the summer blockbuster premiere of Man of Steel, directed by Zack Snyder.
Man of Steel Ignored – A Visual Representation of Denial
Despite a barrage of accolades from friends whose opinions I trust, despite a poster that played to my Gen-X consumer sensibilities, and despite my lifelong cultural attachment to the lore—I denied the film’s existence.
And I did so, nose dismissively high, out of a fear that was not without cause. A cause not without injury. An injury not without insult. And despite what you may be thinking, my reaction was entirely rational. Perhaps even Freudian.
Let’s flash back.
Step inside the Temple of Nostalgia, where the echoes of classic cinema still whisper through the golden halls. But be careful—some relics aren’t meant to be disturbed…
The Temple of Nostalgia and the Desecration of Lore
It’s the late ’70s.
Valium is failing as a cure for my mother’s depression. Divorce is failing as a fix for irreconcilable differences between well-meaning parents. And I—through no choice of my own—am caught in the crossfire.
Feels about right.
For those unfamiliar with the collateral damage sustained by a vulnerable ten-year-old in such conditions, imagine your first introduction to dark, hostile energy comes not from the playground, nor from the older, predatorily inclined variety, but from the sound of your own mother’s screams during an argument. Screams that grow louder, darker, more venomous—until your father reciprocates in kind, voice like a thunderclap. And then comes the crescendo: the sound of a household object, heavy and sharp-edged, being thrown across the room. A shattering explosion of glass. A slammed door. And then, silence.
Ten years from now, Daytime Talk Shows will start teaching America that a positive home environment is great in ’88. But this is 1978. No one’s talking about the damage being done, least of all the parents doing the damage.
And I, in the middle of it, have nowhere to run.
But then, something happens.
The 1978 Premiere of Superman(concept)
On December 15th, 1978, Superman: The Movie is released in theaters nationwide.
And in every beautiful frame, I find something miraculous: proof that magic is real.
A torch is lit. A flickering fire grows. A guiding light appears in what was once a dark tunnel. And suddenly, escape doesn’t seem impossible. The reason men of a certain age become radical preservationists of original lore isn’t always about some dysfunctional, religious devotion to nostalgia. It’s because, in very real ways, these stories saved our lives.
Richard Donner’s Superman didn’t just entertain me—it kept me exploring. His films led me to Joseph Campbell, Campbell led me to mythology, and mythology led me to understanding my own narrative.
Deep inside my imagination of protected childhood memories: Keith’s Fortress Of Solitude
That’s why I built a temple, in my mind, around this film.
And that’s why I felt the need to protect it.
But against what?
Against the desecration of that temple. Against the soulless, studio-mandated rewrites that strip lore of its meaning and replace myth with marketing.
And before you call me dramatic, let me remind you of The Fantastic Four.
A film that didn’t just disappoint—it betrayed.
I will never forget seeing, center-frame, a glorified product placement masquerading as a prop car. A moment of supposed cinematic spectacle hijacked by an automotive corporation eager to shove their campaign slogan into the script.
Nothing like poorly disguised product placement to ruin a viewing experience.
And so, it wasn’t just that they killed my childhood heroes.
The experience was more akin to traveling to a last known location, expecting to perform a wellness check for a friend, only to discover my hero in a dimly lit motel room, blowing some dude for coke. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that—just that I wasn’t expecting to see it in my childhood bedtime story.)
When they went after Star Wars—when they castrated Han Solo’s preemptive strike into an act of revisionist self-defense—I knew it was time to get militant.
The barricades went up.
The blinders came on.
And for ten long years, I refused to acknowledge Man of Steel.
Then Came the Earthquake
Eventually, against my better judgment, I watched Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel.
Keith screens 'Man Of Steel’(2013) for the first time- in 2025.
And the earth shook.
I will attempt to keep short what has already been repeated, ad nauseam, across the fruited plains of the internet:
Zack Snyder’s Man of Steel is a superbly-written, perfectly cast, impeccably directed masterpiece of filmmaking.
Not just because the visual effects hold their own in 2025.
Not just because Henry Cavill added layers of complexity that deepened my interest in a character I already knew so well.
Not just because Michael Shannon transformed General Zod from a cartoonish warlord into a tactical freedom fighter.
But because of the revelation that both characters were fighting for causes that, if examined without bias, were eerily similar.
For a brief, fleeting moment, the lines between protagonist and antagonist blurred beyond recognition.
And in that moment, I realized something:
My entire understanding of the hero’s journey had been incomplete.
The idea of absolute good and absolute evil had been an illusion.
And for the first time, I saw the story with new eyes.
And Now, A New Question
If I was able to take a childhood obsession with film and turn it into gainful employment as an IATSE Local 52 Studio Mechanic—
3am Condor Pre-Flight
If I was able to build a career by studying, analyzing, and replicating the mechanics of storytelling and cinematography—
Then could the challenges of learning Python be solved the same way?
Could a cinematic, character-driven curriculum—a system of illustrations, maps, and story beats—turn code comprehension into a single-read delivery system?
Instead of leveraging AI to write code for me (and learning nothing), could I use AI to create an environment that works in tandem with my existing skills?
Could I build something that allows me to emerge, weeks or months from now, not just with a few scattered coding tricks, but with the proficiency to do something extraordinary?
If Zack Snyder were here, what would he say?
Would he tell me to fuck off?
Or would he tell me to go and find out?
The Heroes Journey. Now Playing. Forever.
Chapter 4: The Game of Life—Now in Debug Mode
Key art for Chapter 4 of “The Game of Life,” illustrating the journey of survival and progression in an open-world RPG-style metaphor. Featuring a lone figure overlooking a cybernetic landscape with a futuristic mission interface, this artwork captures the spirit of perseverance and adaptation in both gaming and real life.
Chapter 4: The Game of Life—Now in Debug Mode
An Open-World Survival RPG Like No Other
Human existence is the ultimate open-world, survival RPG, told primarily in first person. The only requirements to enter?
Be a sentient being.
Be a legal resident of Earth.
Realize, sooner or later, that you’ve been playing all along.
Welcome to The Game of Life, where the objective is simple: ascend, adapt, and propagate. The difficulty? Entirely dependent on where you spawn.
Land in a developing nation? Your main quest might involve securing clean water or defending against pestilence du jour.
Drop into a country of wealth and power? You might just end up being the guy blogging about muscle cramps and mushrooms.
This was the sequence of thoughts I awoke with one morning after an unusually good night’s sleep. Not so much a message from the ether, like last time—more like a revelation.
And as these thoughts lingered, even as I powered through my morning routine, I considered whether they were a direct side effect of the courseware I’d started just days before.
Reality Check: Python for Everyone—But Not Really
The course was called Python for Everyone.
A noble title. A promising invitation.
But despite the good intentions of its esteemed professor and the university’s golden seal, it had one fatal flaw:
"Everyone" apparently meant "everyone who already knows how to think like a university student."
I did not.
Welcome to my middle school mathematics class.
My childhood was spent bouncing between divorced parents with wildly different ideas of education, meaning multiple schools, disrupted learning, and a shaky academic foundation. My parents tried to tutor me, bless them, but by then, the damage was done.
And so I feared math class. I feared failing. I feared proving everyone right about me.
But here’s the funny thing:
Despite having to Google half the concepts for better explanations, despite feeling like an outsider in a classroom meant for minds that had been trained differently than mine—
I aced the first pop quiz.
I aced the one that interrupts the video lecture to make sure you’re paying attention.
I dominated the final quiz that covered the entire first chapter.
I was elated.
You’d think, after that, all I had to do was cruise my victory lap, avoid hitting reporters on the way into the winner’s circle, and graciously accept my laurels.
But no.
Instead, I felt something much worse than failure.
I was bored.
Welcome to Procrastination City—Population: Me
I don’t know how many times I paused the video lecture to check Twitter, but when I finally realized I was reloading my feed mid-sentence, I knew I was doomed.
I had just been elected Mayor of Procrastination City, a town where every citizen submits daily case studies on the relationship between Nvidia drivers, processor architecture, and Cyberpunk 2077 framerates.
(Go on. Ask me how I know.)
Cyberpunk2077: V’s backup is Solomon Reed? FAFO.
Desperate for a fix, I turned to drugs.
Or rather, I searched for a homeopathic Schedule 2 emulator.
I went straight to the Gen-X market maker himself (you know who), and after chasing down a chewable mint that was sold out everywhere, I headed to the product website and went straight for the ingredients list.
Caffeine, Ginseng, L-Theanine.
That day, I bought three big bottles of the stuff.
That night, I finished the online course.
The next day, I finished two more.
Something about the L-Theanine felt different.
L-Theaninie - Magic in a bottle?
Not a body high. Not an artificial stimulant boost.
More like… a mental clarity unlock.
A near emotional shift. A positive mental attitude injection that turned boring coursework into something tolerable.
And sure, getting those digital certificates of completion meant something. It was progress. It was proof.
Until I tested my skills in the real world… and got annihilated.
Turns out, my new skill wasn’t coding.
My new skill was learning how to pass a test.
Existential Doom: Level 2 Unlocked
The fear hit me like a runaway freight train.
This wasn’t just frustration.
This wasn’t just the realization that I wasn’t good yet.
This was existential doom.
Why?
Because this entire learning process—this "Python journey"—felt like the polar opposite of how I learned my true craft.
When I got into photography and cinematography, it was because I was obsessed.
Inspired by the fashion portraiture of Helmut Newton.
Electrified by the surreal storytelling of Gregory Crewdson.
Falling in love with the way a scene was shot and needing to know which lens they used.
That’s how I learned.
That’s how I fell in love with a craft.
This?
This felt like an academic chore.
And unless I could find a learning tool that provided a visual and emotional anchor to the cold, impersonal syntaxof coding…
I already knew the truth.
I would never become a programmer.
Next Up: The Search for Meaning in a World of Code
The question wasn’t whether I could pass another test.
The question wasn’t whether I could collect another certificate.
The question was:
Could I find a way to make Python feel like art?
If I couldn’t… then what was the point?
Next Chapter Teaser:
"Debugging the Human Brain—Can Code Be Art?"
(Spoiler alert: I’m about to break something to find out.)
Concept & AI-Rendered Art by Athena (In collaboration with Keith DeCristo)
Chapter 3: The Great Supplement Odyssey (Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Trust a Mycologist)
Struggling with energy, focus, and memory? Chapter 3 of The Midlife Code Crisis explores the nootropic rabbit hole—testing supplements like AG1, Cordyceps, and Lion’s Mane—to see if they truly boost stamina, brainpower, and longevity. Can science-backed biohacking make time an ally? Let’s find out.
The Quest Begins
You’d think finding the perfect, no-nonsense electrolyte supplement for a physically demanding job and a midlife body that refuses to quit would be simple.
Step 1: Identify the need—check.
Step 2: Seek out recommendations from people in my peer group—done.
Step 3: Feed the search engine a few carefully chosen keystrokes and claim my prize—ha. Hahahaha.
Naïveté, thy name is Keith.
What followed was a descent into the algorithmic abyss, where paid ads masquerade as “best reviews” and the most visible results belong to those who bought their way to the top. YouTube wasn’t much better—clickbait thumbnails of shredded fitness influencers holding up neon-colored drinks while promising “INSANE GAINS” and “LIFE-CHANGING BENEFITS” at the low, low price of my remaining dignity.
I went to bed defeated, dreaming of a world where useful information wasn’t buried beneath SEO-optimized nonsense.
And then, in the misty realm between sleep and wakefulness, I received a divine message:
“You must go forth and seek the wisdom of the bald man who once made people eat bugs for cash.”
Ah, of course. Joe Rogan.
Enter: The Mycelium Messiah
This is where things get weird.
Paul goes exploring(concept)
During my research binge, I stumbled upon Paul Stamets—a real-life, world-renowned mycologist and the guy that Star Trek: Discovery named a character after (yes, seriously). Unlike the usual charlatans selling magic powders on Instagram, Stamets is the real deal—a scientist obsessed with mushrooms, immune-boosting compounds, and generally hacking the human body with natural compounds.
His credentials:
✅ Grew up exploring the forests of Northern California.
✅ Fell in love with fungi and turned a hobby into a lifetime obsession.
✅ His wife was diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, and in an act of desperate brilliance, he combined seven different mushroom species in an attempt to help her body fight back.
✅ It worked. (Yes, really.)
✅ He launched Host Defense, a line of mushroom-based supplements designed to enhance memory, stamina, immunity, and overall longevity.
Paul’s cancer-free wife (concept)
Was this the moment I became a mycology believer? Maybe.
Was it also the moment I pulled out my credit card and ordered a few bottles? Absolutely.
But first, let’s talk about the other thing I ordered.
I actually don’t mind the taste. Just sweet enough to clear that grassy taste.
AG1: The Green Powder That Stuck
Before I went full “mushroom wizard”, I started with something more mainstream: AG1 (Athletic Greens).
AG1 (Athletic Greens)
🟢 Use Case: Every morning before work, sometimes in the afternoon.
🟢 Duration: 4 years (and counting).
🟢 Primary Benefit: No more muscle cramps. Ever.
🟢 Bonus: Works as a quick meal replacement when I’m on the go.
🟢 Anecdotal Verdict: Legit. It does what it says, and my legs no longer betray me like a bad subplot in a soap opera.
With my hydration sorted, I turned my attention to Stamets’ mushroom arsenal.
The Mushroom Experiment
Host Defense: Cordyceps (The Stamina Booster)
🍄 Use Case: Taken when I know I have a long day on set.
🍄 Duration: 4 years (on and off).
🍄 Claimed Benefit: Strength, endurance, and energy.
🍄 Tested Benefit: Confirmed. Kicks in around 20 minutes post-ingestion, and I can feel the difference for at least 4 hours.
🍄 Anecdotal Verdict: If I had this in my 20s, I’d have been unstoppable.
Host Defense: Lion’s Mane (The Brain Booster)
🧠 Use Case: Taken sporadically—until I started noticing something.
🧠 Duration: 4 years (off and on).
🧠 Claimed Benefit: Memory, cognitive clarity, overall well-being.
🧠 Tested Benefit: This is where things get interesting.
At first, I didn’t notice much—until I stopped taking it for a while.
Then:
🔹 Didn’t need to check my grocery list—I just remembered.
🔹 Started recalling names and details from the past with bizarre clarity.
🔹 On set, a light needed a replacement bulb. Without thinking, I blurted out “DPY”—the code for a tungsten 5K bulb—something I hadn’t consciously memorized, but there it was, surfacing like I was a protagonist in a budget-friendly version of Limitless.
Could this mean that Lion’s Mane was actually working?
Was I about to bio-hack my way into next-level learning?
There was only one way to find out.
Next Mission: Learning to Code with a Mycelium-Enhanced Brain
Your digitized office of the future.
If Cordyceps could keep me on my feet for a 14-hour shoot, and Lion’s Mane could make light bulb codes magically resurface from the depths of my memory, then I had to ask myself:
What else could I learn?
More specifically…
Could nootropics help me tackle something as complex as programming?
Because if video gamers could translate their hand-eye coordination into real-life racing skills, then maybe—just maybe—I could translate this new mental clarity into something meaningful.
I’d already been toying with Python. Now, it was time to test it under enhanced conditions.
The Next Experiment:
🧪 Test: Python learning, with and without nootropics.
🧪 Goal: See if Lion’s Mane improves my ability to retain coding knowledge.
🧪 Methodology:
• Baseline: Track how much I can remember from coding exercises naturally.
• Supplement: Take Lion’s Mane consistently for a month.
• Retest: Compare results and see if the “Limitless” effect is real.
Was I about to find out if my brain had an extra gear?
Time to f_ck around and find out.
To be continued…
Final Thoughts
What started as a simple search for electrolytes spiraled into a full-blown deep dive into biohacking, cognitive enhancement, and fungi-based performance boosters.
Did I expect to end up here? Absolutely not.
Am I complaining? Also no.
Because if this works, I’ll have proof that nootropics can help people tackle daunting new skills—like coding, problem-solving, or learning something totally outside their comfort zone.
And if it doesn’t?
Well, at least I’ll have incredibly strong stamina, no muscle cramps, and a photographic memory for light bulb codes.
Stay tuned.
IF YOU’RE CURIOUS:
Disclaimer: This is not a paid endorsement. The products mentioned are ones I personally use and find valuable. No sponsorships, no affiliate links—just honest recommendations. Some images are mockups, or digital interpretations of the actual product.
For me, this green stuff eliminated my work related muscle cramps. Try AG1
The road to performance memory is paved with mycelium. Check out https://hostdefense.com/
Concept & AI-Rendered Art by Athena (In collaboration with Keith DeCristo)
CHAPTER TWO: CHARLEY DON’T SURF
“If you’re going to survive that stretch of asphalt lunacy, you’d better have a fast reflex, precise control, and zero hesitation. And as I nearly found out the hard way, there’s no “almost” in motorcycle physics.”
Fun Fact:
The phrase charley horse—used to describe a muscle cramp—allegedly dates back to 1880s baseball, when players likened their leg spasms to an old, limping horse named Charley who worked the ballpark.
Charley? Say it ain’t so!
Therefore, I believe Charley’s ghost is the one who stormed into my bedroom at exactly the witching hour, hellbent on revenge, and inflicted such a violent cramp in my right calf that I woke up convinced an actual horse was standing on me.
Now, here’s where you might start to question my sanity—not for accusing a famous ghost horse of assault, but for how long Charley’s name stayed at the top of my suspect list. The reason? Lack of a better answer.
I’d already been guzzling water like it was my job.
I even drank those neon-colored Gatorades I hate.
I’d seen joggers in Central Park swear by Pedialyte, so I found the flavor that sucked the least and carried it to work like a damn security blanket.
I even fell for the “French vitamins = instant health” logic and dropped real money on some overpriced, high-vibe electrolyte powder.
And yet, at exactly 3 a.m., I still found myself crippled by a charley horse from hell.
So what went wrong?
If I trusted the product, then logic points to environmental factors.
Or… Charley really was out for blood.
The Perfect Storm
A charley horse at 3 a.m. is annoying. A charley horse in my world is a problem.
A) My job is physically & mentally demanding.
Let’s be honest—fun jobs are easy to love. But love or not, work is work, and high mileage is high mileage.
Steven Spielberg, in an old behind-the-scenes interview, once said that his most critical pre-production ritual was:
1. Hit the gym.
2. Lift like hell.
3. Prepare for battle.
The Grocery Getter.
B) I ride a motorcycle.
The FDR at rush hour is not a road.
It’s a psychological experiment in how quickly one human can learn to despise all other humans.
If you’re going to survive that stretch of asphalt lunacy, you’d better have a fast reflex, precise control, and zero hesitation. And as I nearly found out the hard way, there’s no “almost” in motorcycle physics.
C) I play video games.
Somewhere out there, an old TED Talk once compared active-duty Navy SEALs with elite Call of Duty players.
• In multiple categories, their reaction times were nearly indistinguishable.
• In some cases, the gamers were faster.
There can be only one.
Which made me think: if playing a game can train split-second survival skills, then what else could be optimized?
And, let’s be real—this wasn’t just about survival.
I was one of those kids who walked into a movie theater in 1977, saw Star Wars for the first time, and walked out convinced I was going to fly an X-Wing one day.
A younger me about to discover something good…(concept)
It wasn’t until I discovered women that I set that dream aside.
But now? I see no practical reason not to fly one.
Which made me think: if playing a game can train split-second survival skills, then what else could be optimized?
The Solution Was Obvious.
A turbocharged, gamer-tested, SEAL-team-certified supplemental supplement from my exact peer group.
All I had to do was find a guy my age, working a physically brutal job, who also had the mental endurance and reflexes sharp enough to ride a motorcycle every day and get home in one piece.
Did the Mayor of Easytown just hand me the key to the city?
Concept & AI-Rendered Art by Athena (In collaboration with Keith DeCristo)
Chapter One: Rolling on a new take.
-Because here’s the thing about Christmas movies: they don’t film in December. By the time those heartwarming, twinkling-light-filled moments hit your screen, the production crew has long since packed up and moved on. Holiday specials have to be shot months in advance, and this one, in all its tinsel-clad glory, was being filmed in the dead heat of August.
Welcome to chapter one: The Midlife Code Crisis
(Or, How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Python)
Our story begins on the set of a Hallmark Channel Christmas movie. The effects department had conjured a flawless, swirling snowstorm. The art team transformed the set into a holiday wonderland, decking every storefront and lamp post in festive cheer. Wardrobe had carefully curated a lineup of winter coats, scarves, and boots—each ensemble a masterclass in cozy, Christmas-card perfection.
It would have been like any other night doing the job I love—if not for the brutal, oppressive heat.
Because here’s the thing about Christmas movies: they don’t film in December. By the time those heartwarming, twinkling-light-filled moments hit your screen, the production crew has long since packed up and moved on. Holiday specials have to be shot months in advance, and this one, in all its tinsel-clad glory, was being filmed in the dead heat of August.
The humidity was suffocating. The air was thick and unmoving, as if some vengeful deity had decided to smite our production with a weaponized heatwave. Every crew member was drenched. The actors—swaddled in layers of winter wool—were on the verge of heatstroke. It felt like we were filming inside a malfunctioning sauna.
Not a fan of those crazy colored sports drinks.
I’d been guzzling water all night, trying to stay ahead of the dehydration. I’d even choked down those neon-colored Gatorades I hate. But no amount of fluids could stop what happened next.
A sharp, searing pain shot through my right leg. I barely had time to register it before my knee buckled.
A PA rushed to my side, grabbing my arm. “You okay?”
I nodded, more out of habit than honesty. The pain was vicious. I tried to stand, but my leg wasn’t interested in cooperating.
The Muscle Cramp from O.U.C.H.
“You need to stay hydrated, pal,” the PA said, handing me another bottle of water.
I wanted to tell him that hydration wasn’t the problem—that I’d been drinking more water than humanly possible—but I just nodded again and took the bottle.
That’s when one of the Teamsters, a guy in his late sixties, strolled past and chuckled. “We ain’t getting any younger, pal.”
And there it was. The thing I hated hearing.
Not the oasis I needed. (concept)
I forced a smile, pretending I didn’t want to hurl my water bottle at him. Instead, I gritted my teeth and pushed myself up onto my feet, each step an act of defiance. My knee screamed in protest, but I kept moving, fueled by something far stronger than the pain—resentment.
Because I’d heard it too many times.
“You’re getting older.”
“This job takes a toll.”
“Time is undefeated.”
It was always the same tired refrain, as if aging was a pre-scripted tragedy, an unchangeable fact, like gravity or taxes. But I refused to buy into that. Injuries, fatigue, the slow creeping entropy of time itself—they were all just systems, and if there was one thing I knew about systems, it was that they could be hacked.
I just needed to figure out how.
“You realize time is your enemy, right?”
Joe was leaning against a cable cart, watching me limp back to set. He was an Army veteran, a fellow lighting tech, and a guy I’d known for years. He lit a cigarette and handed me one.
“Do you really think you’re the first guy to dream about stopping it?”
I exhaled a slow breath, lit my cigarette, and met his gaze.
“I don’t have to stop time,” I said, rolling my sore knee absentmindedly. “I just need to change the way it defines us.”
Joe smirked, shaking his head. “And how the hell are you gonna do that?”
I took another drag and smiled.
I had no idea.
But I was going to find out.
And that’s how this whole thing started.
On set with Joe, bringing stories to life.
Concept & AI-Rendered Art by Athena (In collaboration with Keith DeCristo)