(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 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)