I’m 35 today. I’ve not been looking forward to it, to be honest, but time dragged me by the scruff of the neck, and here I am.

At 35, one can no longer pretend to be a young adult, and it’s the slide into the Middle Ages.

I still don’t feel very grown up.
I’m braver than I used to be, but also more cowardly in some ways.
I’m more cynical than in my twenties, but people manage to surprise me quite often (in a good way).
I’m starting to know my limits.
I still have trouble showing affection, or asking for help.
I’ve loved and been loved, but I don’t know whether it’ll happen.
Friends and acquaintances have showed me by example that a family is still possible at this point.
I’m loving my job, but I know it will need to evolve, it’s just not clear how.
I’ve come to terms with the fact that life is never going to be constant bliss, but a succession of good and bad times.

In short, I thought I’d have it all worked out by now, but I’m still casting about … I guess that’s life.

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