By Lisa Scottoline
I’m not in menopause.
I’m in adolescence.
I realized this the other day, when it occurred to me that I was turning into a thirteen-year-old boy.
Because of videogames.
By way of background, I never played a videogame in my life.
I’m more of a book person.
Also a dog person.
And a carbohydrates person.
But I got interested in F1 racing from a Netflix show entitled Drive to Survive.
Even though my idea of driving to survive is going to the cardiologist.
Nevertheless I got completely sucked into the show, which follows the stories of superhot men driving fast cars.
Evidently I’m not dead below the waist.
Who knew?
Anyway this led to me actually buying a sports car, which is a thing of beauty, even though I never go above the speed limit.
I don’t drive fast, I drive beautiful.
Then I started imagining myself behind the wheel of a real F1 race car.
No, I didn’t buy one.
But it turns out that there’s an F1 videogame and I thought that would be really fun, so when my bestie Laura asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I told her:
A superhot F1 driver.
Just kidding.
I told her, an F1 videogame.
I knew she would know the game because her husband and sons are also F1 fans. I was imagining some kind of game that I played on my computer and used my headphones for. It didn’t occur to me that I would need a joystick or anything else.
In other words, I didn’t think it through.
Which is so like teenage me.
And what happened next was that Laura and her amazing sons came through with flying colors, and gave me not only a videogame but some kind of F1 race simulator, which comes with a real car seat, an actual steering wheel, cushy headphones, and a wraparound screen.
It even has seatbelts.
I might need to increase my collision insurance.
Her family came over and built the whole damn thing, which was incredibly nice of them.
Yes, I feel totally guilty.
But also totally excited.
It’s like a racecar that goes nowhere.
Except in my imagination.
We put it in my office next to my computer, which is also a machine that doesn’t work without imagination.
So maybe a race simulator is perfect for an author?
Who cares, I love it!
I just got off deadline for my next book, and I can’t wait to get in the driver’s seat, learn how to play, and waste tons of time.
I’m about to become a videogamer.
Sorry, I mean gamer.
That’s what we call us, for short.
I feel pretty sure that I won’t be the only fossil gamer.
I wonder how many of us there are.
I’m about to find out.
I logged on to pick a gamer name, which took me way too long.
I rejected Superhot1.
Also ReadingIsFundamental.
And AgeIsJustANumber.
I eventually settled on a name that matches my vanity license plate, which I can’t tell you because it’s too embarrassing.
But if you log on to the F1 game, you’ll know it’s me because I’ll be the one going 35 miles an hour on the straightaway.
I intend to be a virtual traffic hazard.
You might call this a midlife crisis.
Or, more accurately, an end-of-life crisis.
But I call it a let’s-live-life crisis.
And I’m buckling up.
Copyright © 2025 Lisa Scottoline