[Setting: Classroom at Alvernia College in Reading, Pennsylvania. Beth DeMeo is the professor. The class is the Modern Novel. We're discussing Joyce's Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.

Beth: How old is Stephan Daedalus?
Somebody: He's in college so he's about twenty?
Beth: No, it's mentioned explicitly.
Me: He's 33.
Beth: Right. 33. Christ was 33 years old when he was crucified. Hamlet was 33. It was believed during the middle ages that in heaven, everyone would be 33 years old, no matter what age you were at death. Someone once said that 33 is the perfect age to write a novel. The fires of youth are still burning strong, but at the same time, you are old enough to realize with certainty that one day you will die. In fact, given life expectancy until recently, 33 was the mid-point of life, halfway between the cradle and the grave.

I was remembering this exchange this morning. It seemed significant in light of the received wisdom that most people decide to explore S/M when they're in their thirties. There are, of course, many many exceptions in either direction, but overall this is true. For many gay men, it represents a second coming out, so similar to finally admitting to yourself and to others that you're gay. "Maybe this will go away, maybe it's just a phase... What are my friends going to think? What if they find out at work? What if someone I grew up with finds out?" The tumbler clicks, the door opens, you take a deep breath, and step through.

So why is age 30 through 39 the magic decade for making this step? There are many possible answers to that. Because at that point you care less about what others think and have a clearer notion of what's important to you; or, you realize around that age that there are plenty of sane, well-adjusted, good, intelligent people in the world who are into S/M; or, you just can't hold back anymore and you need to act on this or else you'll go crazy; or, (the Marxist analysis ) at that point you've attained some measure of bourgeoise economic self-sufficiency that allows you to insulate yourself from most of the potential negative consequences. Or a combination thereof.

I have an idea, though, that it all goes back to Stephan Daedalus. You start to perceive the skull beneath the skin. You turn inward ("What does it all mean? What's important to me? What am I trying to accomplish anyway? Why am I not happy?") and at the same time direct yourself outward, jumping out of an airplane, taking that trip to Nepal, building your dream house, buying a vintage car. Heidegger held (go easy on me here, it's been a long time since I read Heidegger, and I'm not sure how well I understood him then) that when Dasein (Heidegger's shorthand for that which is conscious of itself, namely... uh... like, a guy) becomes consciousness of the fact that the flip side of Being is Not Being, that is the point when Dasein really comes to consciousness.

I'm dying. I'd better start living. No more foolin' around.

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