Today is both my birthday and that of Auguste Rodin (sculpter of The Thinker). I’ve no idea how old Auguste is, but I’m 35.
Three and a half decades old. Many of the people reading this may remember that my worst fear as my thirtieth birthday approached was growing older. Now I’m middle aged and it still isn’t a nice prospect, but I’ve made my peace with it. Back then I was starting to realise that all my achievements were not only in the past, but the witnesses and places those achievements were recorded were pretty much all gone. I had memories, but nothing to show for what I had done in my life. As I have a rather potent fear of growing old and becoming a victim of something like Alzheimers which steals your mind from you, this was untenable.
Now I’m working towards newer and more tangible achievements. They may be good, bad or even average in the end, but they’ll still be something I can look on with pride and say “I did this”. Far from having my best in the past, now I can see more to do stretching far in front of me. For the first time in a long time I’ve been looking forward to a birthday and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.