seems there’s a meme going around where people write letters to their younger selves.

i thought about writing one myself – but in my case, it wouldn’t ring true. you see, while most people experienced the teenage angst of wanting to be an adult, or feeling that they were waiting for their lives to *begin*, i never really went through that. for me, that exhilarating freedom that comes with the autonomy of shaping your world and who you are, in accordance with no one else’s rules but your own… for me that happened at thirty.

i was thinking about that as i approach my 37th birthday in just a few weeks time. i always have this funny game in my head where i start thinking of myself as older long before the actual turn of the calendar. so really, i’ve been thinking of myself as 37 for a while now, and it has long since occurred to me that 37 is much closer to 40 than i realised.

i suppose i expected that, much like my dramatic and prolonged run-up to 30, i would be filled with dread at that prospect. after all, unless you’re planning to live to 100, 40 is truly “middle aged”. i expected to be struck down early by the doom of a “mid-life crisis” (seeing as how i tend to be ahead of the curve on such things – hell, i had a quarter-century crisis long before they became fashionable).

and perhaps i would be, if, like my 27 year old self, i felt i was living someone else’s idea of an expected life. if i had kids and a mortgage and a car and a flatscreen tv and a responsible career and parent-teacher nights and remodelling projects and vacations to disneyworld and retirement accounts and the local pizza place on speeddial and a sensible haircut and a life insurance policy and the prospect of another 40+ years of the same, i’d be absolutely despondent. i mean no offense to anyone else who has those things. they are good, honest and true things, and they were the things i was headed towards because they were what i thought i was *supposed* to want. but once i threw off those expectations, i realised they were not my idea of a life.

but where i am now is so vastly different from where i was then. the other day jonno and i were discussing where we want to live next – new zealand, australia, or canada? we are discussing the possibility of doing another few months of travelling. i am readying myself to begin training for another marathon. the other day i had to go buy more dishes and silverware for my thanksgiving dinner, and i kinda resented it – for the past three years, we’ve had exactly four forks, four plates, four glasses, and i’ve loved that minimalism. in a few minutes, i’m heading out to the pub for a few drinks. on a school night. because i can. i have a job i could leave in a heartbeat, but provides a decent lifestyle, so i stay on. i have enough money to do the things i really want, and enough flexibility to do them. in short, i *love my life*.

and i live it according to no one’s expectations, no one’s rules but my own. it took me 30 years to achieve a life of my own, and i feel as though i’m just getting started.

if the past six years are anything to go by, i’ve got everything i ever wanted to look forward to.

so bring on 37. hell, bring on 40. i can’t wait to see what’s in store.

possibilities – frankie and the heartstrings

Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.

3 people like this post.

Unlike