I’m 36. I’m ok with that. Age is just a number really. You’re as old as you feel and all that.
I spent most of my late teens and early twenties either drunk or with a hangover, so I’ve generally felt healthier since I arrived in my late twenties. I’m not exactly a changed man, I still drink, I’m mildly bleary eyed as I write this, following a few post work beers with my colleagues, but I don’t quite hit the excesses of my youth anymore.
I’ve also been in a relationship with my other half for nine years and even though we probably argue several times a day, we make each other happy. Well she makes me happy anyway.
Anyway the point is that in most respects life is better now than it was when I was younger. And I think that 36 is still relatively young in the context of your whole life.
But it’s not so young that there aren’t now a few dreams I’m probably going to have to give up.
I think I probably now have to accept that I’m never going to play any sport at a high enough level to represent my country. Even if it’s a sport my country is particularly bad at and I’m Welsh so there’s no shortage of those.
I’m never going to be a rock star.
I’m probably not going to win Wimbledon.
I’m definitely not going to appear on any utterly pointless list of ‘young people’ who are changing the world entitled ’30 under 30.’
I don’t think I’m about to be head-hunted by MI6 or some other secret organisation, so I’m probably never going to be a spy.
I don’t think I’m ever going to be a superhero for that matter.
Too old I am, to a Jedi become.
And unless the owls were on strike and my Hogwarts letter got lost in the post, it seems unlikely I’m going to be able to enter the wizarding profession.
It’s a shame I’ll now never get to do any of those things.
I genuinely believe that with a bit more hard work and dedication I could have achieved all of them.