On the subject of faces (see Bond earlier) I had a shock walking through Bank yesterday.
I was dressed in a suit and tie for a change, and if I say so myself, I looked The Business, easily holding my own with the throngs of thrusting young investment bankers that inhabit that part of town. More, though, I caught sight of myself in a window and realised I looked like An Adult. A mature human male. Confident and purposeful, the kind of man who’d have a car with more than two seats, perhaps even own a lawnmower.
I’d just been to the gym and even the ruddy face and spiky hair looked more like the solidity and patina of age than the flush of extended youth. I was quite pleased: maybe I’ll grow old gracefully after all. My natural father apparently gets mistaken for a guy in his 40s (at 60something) and still jumps around rooftops fixing his house. And surely it can’t be a coincidence that at 36 I’m feeling stronger and fitter than I’ve ever done in my life. (Triathlon is the ideal sport for over-30s, after all – the balance of three disciplines is great for all-round toning.)
And this morning, I feel somehow… different. A bit more mainstream. And a few more things in my life just seem to fit better. The way I’ve been unhappy at work recently (copywriting’s a boy’s job, not a man’s, even when it pays six figures) and the strange attraction of buttoned-down, deep-thinking management consultancies as clients rather than the flashy, surface-obsessed ad agencies.
Ready for the next phase of life.