We all get older. It’s a fact of life. The moment we stop getting older is the moment that our final age is set in our gravestone. In my case I have a pretty big milestone coming up. The big three-oh. It’s supposed to be the age that you realise that the cavorting ceases and seriousness starts. It should be scary, but for some reason it’s not.
Ten years ago, if you asked me what I would be like when I’m 30, I would have said that I would have been the same as I was at 20. But looking back, I can’t relate to the way I was then. I can’t understand the immaturity, the lack of dedication or the foolishness that I showed. I can’t believe that I was ever that naive. But of course I was. We all were.
Maybe it’s part of growing up. Maybe that as we grow older, our perspective on life changes and while we can look back at those golden years with a certain wistfulness, we also realise that we are better off with those years behind us instead of in front of us. What is certain is that as we grow older, we change. We settle down and begin to accept our place in this world, and the limitations that we have to live with. When we’re young perhaps we want to be rock stars, or perhaps the next Einstein, but as we move through life, we realise that it isn’t going to happen no matter how hard we try. At first we rebel against the idea that our dreams will not be.
For some lucky people of course, the dream does come true. But for every Mick Jagger and Richard Feynman, there are millions who live ordinary lives, doing ordinary things. And for the most part those people accept their part in the world. Regardless of the ambition they once held, they are the people working the dead-end jobs in offices, sweeping the streets, or taking calls in a call centre. They are us. The faceless masses who keep the country ticking over. No matter how dreary a job may seem, there is someone doing it, somewhere. And they accept that this is their lot in life. If you asked a six years old what they wanted to be when they grow up, I doubt that you would hear “office worker”, “bar person” or “street sweeper” anywhere in their potential job list.
Sometime along the line, these people made a decision to take these jobs, and accept that this was what life had to offer them. Maybe 30 is a good a time as any to make that decision. A time to accept that we’re not going to be the next Einstein, and that while sometimes you get lucky, it’s not always in the manner you expect.