I will mourn the passing of my early twenties. Goodbye precocity. From 26 your hard work is expected and ignored. I love the pat on the head you see; I adore being a special thing. I’ve got so much mileage out of being ‘only 21’, ‘just turned 23’, ‘not even 25’. From 26, my age will be irrelevant unless I manage to build a successful business before I’m 30. Four years. Hmm. Should I book my Financial Times profile now?
My life seems to be hurtling by at an uncontrolled rate. How is that? When you’re a kid, time passes slowly because you have so few worries, such routine. When I started my career, time sped up but now it’s sprinting. Am I busier? Don’t think so. Maybe more absorbed. But perhaps it is just age. Old people always say years pass in the blink of an eye – what is it in our psyches that makes the part of our lives we worked so hard for whip by like the Tour de France?
This time is a glorious carousel of midnight hill climbing; Saturday morning coffee and pastries; singing along to Nirvana with red wine splashing on the kitchen floor; Instagramming new shoes; emailing wonderful, mentoring strangers; reading talking writing. I don’t want this time to pass. I only just got good at it.