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.