The Musings Of An Opinionated Sod [Help Me Grow!]

That means in just 12 days, I turn forty.

FORTY!!!

I must admit, I cannot comprehend that … I really do think I am about 28 … infact there’s times where I’ve looked at what I’ve achieved in my life so far and thought, “not bad Rob, I wonder what you’ll have done when you hit 35?”, only to remember I was 35 years ago and in theory, I’ve hit my peak and am now on the slow and painful journey into chino-wearing mediocrity.

Of course, given I’m about to join W+K [or to prove I now know how to spell it, Wieden + Kennedy] I am hoping I am able to delay that decline for a few years … but the fact is, I am turning 40 and that seems unfuckingbelievable.

When I was younger, clicking over to another decade was so exciting.

I can still remember being beside myself when I turned 10.

Ten … double digits … I was practically an adult.

And then again at 20 … a decade that promised so much interms of new adventure and experiences … and whilst hitting 30 was fairly miserable due to a bunch of personal circumstances and tragedies, within a few months I was able to embrace the possibilities and feel really good about it.

But 40.

Forty!!!

It doesn’t help that I can remember my Dad’s 40th birthday … and that I remember thinking that was soooooooooooo old.

It also doesn’t help that the media have been on this “40 is the new 30” bollocks.

Let’s face it, that’s just not true … and whilst I don’t know how 40 year old people should act, I would say that if you were to see one behaving as I did when I turned 30, you’d immediately call him a sad fuck, phone for the Police and pray you don’t ever turn out that way.

But – and this is going to sound sappy – the biggest problem I have with turning 40 is that it makes me feel time with my wife is passing by too quickly.

I love my wife.

She is wonderful.

I can’t imagine what life would be like without her and I don’t want too.

She’s smart, funny, beautiful and kind and can make my best days brighter and my worst days less painful.

Over the years she has made some major sacrifices for me.

Not only have I taken her away from her family and friends … but I continue to take her away without seemingly any plan for it to stop.

I owe her … I owe her big time … and yet she asks for nothing and continues to encourage me, support me and love me in her wonderfully joyful way.

Turning 40 means I’ve known her 5 years … only 5 years … and whilst I [touch wood] have at least another 40 ahead of me, it’s simply not enough.

It’s times like this I wish I believed in a religion … a religion where I knew I’d meet her again, meet her earlier, but sadly I don’t and that is why I treasure every second with her.

She’ll hate me for saying this, but one thing I love is noticing the little lines that are appearing around her eyes.

There’s a couple of reasons for this … one is that she looks so bloody young it helps me feel less like a perv while the second is that it reinforces how close I am to her … so close that I notice little things like that.

All in all, my thirties were a stellar decade for me.

They say it should be the decade you make the biggest impact on how the rest of your life turns out – and whilst I don’t know if that’s true [and in some way, I hope it’s not as I/we still have a lot to do and experience] the reality is a load of amazing things happened in these 10 years … however without doubt the most powerful and beautiful one was meeting my wife and somehow convincing her I was good enough … and for that I am eternally grateful, both for her alarming lack of taste and the fact she’ll be by my side as I enter a decade where at the end of it, I will be universally classified as ‘old’, even if I still am wearing shit clothes and my Birkenstocks.