To enjoy life, the life coach said, one must overcome common obstacles, such as fear, unreasonable expectations, bum goals and those inner voices whispering that success is for others, not for people like you.

I’m not on a quest for an exciting, wild life. At my age, all I want is a nap. And there’s one main obstacle that gets in the way — life.

Doctors preach the importance of getting enough sleep. If we don’t snooze, we lose focus and tend to screw up our work.

So why does the boss yell every single time he finds me curled up under my desk with a pillow and blanket? I’m simply trying to improve our product.

Or why is it that just when we settle into that sweet spot on the couch, there’s always someone there shaking our shoulder and saying mean things like, “You promised to fix the washing machine today”?

It’s not just naps that life interrupts. I read a T-shirt that proclaimed, “Life is just a series of obstacles preventing you from reading your book.”

Truth.

Frank and Joe Hardy would be just a page away from solving the mystery when the teacher would snatch my book away from behind my textbook. “You’re not fooling anyone. You can’t write in your workbook holding it up like that.”

If I sat on the floor and propped my book on my knees, right in the middle of a very important panel of Donald Duck, the coach would sling a basketball at my head and holler, “Cole! Get up and guard your man! He just scored AGAIN!”

One of the greatest obstacles was Dad. It was hard to concentrate on Spider-man’s battle with Doc Ock with all his unnecessary screaming and yelling: “Burton William, put that book down right now and clean your room!” or “The house is one fire! Roll off the couch and run!”

OK, that last one didn’t actually happen, but I imagine that’s what Dad would demand, even if I only had two more pages to go to get to the end of the chapter.

Obstacles.

It’s not just naps and books.

Life also interrupts cartoons, liberty and the pursuit of happiness — by which I mean chocolate Ding Dongs.

Years ago, I possessed something called metabolism. What that meant was that as a growing teenage boy, I could eat anything and everything all day long — including Ding Dongs, Ho Hos and Snoballs — and still clock in at a broomstick-thin 135 pounds.

Somewhere along the way, when I was 25 or 30, I set my metabolism down somewhere, just for a minute. Someone must have stolen it. I haven’t seen it since.

The bathroom scales started spinning out of control, medical tests started coming back with odd readings, and my doctor not only made me give up Hostess Cupcakes, but I had to break up with my steady girlfriend Little Debbie.

Life means to keep me from Things That Taste Good. Here, chew on this raw rutabaga while life chews you up and spits you out.

In my teen years, when hanging out with friends was one’s primary goal, I always had to leave the party, game or store early because “The cows aren’t going to milk themselves, you know. Get home and get out to the barn. Now!”

Now in my mid-60s, I have fish, not cows. And I’m not seeking a night out. What I want is a nap.

“Cole! Your column was due three hours ago! Where is it?”

Stop yelling, boss. It’s here, right here. How about you get on with your life now and let me get back to what I was doing before you interrupted me — “improving the product.”

Obstacles. Life. Nap.

Pass me that pillow.

Interrupt Cole at burton.w.cole@gmail.com. He’s already had two naps today.