The End of The Beginning
Today I reach a milestone of sorts, albeit one that usually goes unnoticed and unmarked. I am thirty-three and a third. As of some time this afternoon I have been alive for one-third of a century (leap years all accounted for).
It has occurred to me that if I live to be a hundred – that is if I’m lucky (or unlucky) enough to live longer than anyone I have ever known and well beyond my life expectancy – then the first third of my life is over.
Having squandered much of my youth, I hope and intend my middle age to be more fruitful.
Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m doing alright. I survived childhood and adolescence, managed to get a rudimentary education and am capable of looking after myself for short periods of time. I am well-read and well-travelled. I have met – and am with – the love of my life, and we have an amazing son together, whose mere existence fills me with joy, wonder and abject terror. I am gainfully – if rather ordinarily – employed and due to global inequalities am better off than some 96% of the world’s population.
But I can’t drive, my physique is unimpressive, my academic qualifications almost non-existent, my job a stultifying tedium. And while I am mostly a delight to be around, I can be cynical, short-tempered, misanthropic and morose – sometimes all at once. Beyond wishing that these things weren’t true I seem to lack the motivation to change them.
As to where this blog fits in, I’m not quite sure. If nothing else, it is at least a place to write, and I think that if I manage to write something of significance that will in itself be a positive development. I don’t always enjoy writing, but I love having written. As to exactly what I will write about, I see it as a mix of reflections, reviews and rants but I expect it to evolve.
If you are reading this and the last post is more than a year old, then whatever I’m trying to accomplish probably hasn’t worked.