Numbers Games

In my 20’s, a good male friend of mine and I were contemplating the challenges of finding the perfect partner. It was tough – to get the right blend of characteristics that were a fit to our unique personalities. Both of us had had not much success in the long term relationship department and over a few beers concluded that it was all ok, but if we got to the age of 35 and we were both still single, my friend proposed “lets hook up and smash out a couple of kids”. Romantic, not really, but was it practical? At the time, it was a long way into the future and both of us thought that the time would never come. One of us surely would be dutifully married and have a couple of tiddly winks. Surely? As 35 approached, funnily enough neither of us had found “the one” or had any children (that we are aware of) but also realised that 35 was perhaps not the cut off point. Compared to the rest of our friends, and perhaps society, we were perhaps starting to stretch the boundaries of norms, but neither of us have been very good at conforming so I figure why change now.

Recently a dear friend of mine shared “well I am turning 35 this year, I must get my shit sorted!” and it got me thinking about the dynamic of age and our perception of what we “should” and “should not” be doing by the ripe age of 35. Or 30, or 40 or 50 for that matter. Other than some obvious biological reasons for women and the desire to have children, what does it really matter what we are doing in our 20’s, 30’s, 40’s....what dictates what is “right” and “wrong”. Whilst traveling I have met some amazing people – of all ages. It seems that there is not a pattern with a particular demographic. I have had the pleasure of meeting some of the most mature and grounded 21 year olds and also the unfortunate experience of meeting some 30 somethings that behave like 16 year olds. So I am beginning to think that age really does not matter. What perhaps sealed it for me was chatting to a Tibetan friend the other day and the subject of age came up. I asked how old he was – he replied 25. Hmmmm, interesting because he also had told me that he came to India when he was 18, spent 7 years in a monastery and then had left the monastery nearly 4 years ago. It didn’t add up. So what year were you born I had asked? Well, I am not sure he had replied. What? How can you not know? My date of birth is 8.8.1982 – I am quickly doing the math, well, easy, that makes you 30 this year. No, he had replied, that was the easiest number for me to remember, when I arrived, the man on the desk said I will make it easy for you, you will remember this. And so his date of birth had been established – by an Indian man at the Tibetan refugee reception centre that was making it easy for new arrivals. It wasn’t until years later he had told his mother in Tibet and she said that it was impossible he had been born in 1982, it didn’t fit with her 8 other children, however, she confided she had no idea of the actual year. So he could be 25, or 27, or 29....no one really knows. 

Does age really matter?

 So when we get so hung up on “I should be doing this because I am of the age” I am wondering if I like the way of the Tibetans, make up a number that is easy to remember and to hell with counting the years. As my Tibetan friend so aptly put it, what does it matter anyway? Fair point.