A half-century ends

I'm saying goodbye to 50 this weekend. It's been ... a year.

About a year before my 50th birthday, I was mildly jazzed by the idea of seeing in the half-century in style. I’m not a big birthday person: I used to morbidly chirp “Just another year closer to death!” every April 27, which is true but not exactly inspirational. So, hitting 50 seemed as good a reason as any to celebrate.

Yet it wasn’t shaping up that way. My long-drifting marriage—we’d slowly disappeared over opposite horizons—was ending, taking with it a third of my life. That ruled out a family trip, much as I longed to celebrate with my sons. I didn’t fancy seeing in the day on my own, a sad sack snuffing out the candles on a cake I’d bought myself. What I needed was to take stock with people I loved; who loved me in return.

So, I went to Australia. It was three weeks before my actual birthday, and I saw Brisbane for the first time in a decade and marveled at its growth. Caught up with my oldest friends, picking up precisely where we’d left off. Watched an Aussie rules football game with my uncle Chris, and spent time with extended family. My brother and his husband were generous and kind and their usual brand of wonderful, caring for me and throwing a birthday lunch and dinner. And my mum was everything you’d hope for: loving, supportive, sharp, and a little embarrassing in her praise.¹

I’d already spent months thinking deeply about just where life’s winding road had detoured, and the Australia visit only reinforced the need to find a way back to me. Not the version of myself that I’d become, but the authentic me. And while I suspect that journey never ends, I’m closing an entirely surprising year better than ever.

That doesn’t mean it’s carefree. An amicable divorce is still a divorce, bringing with it all that entails. The family has collectively decided to move back to the east coast, which adds stress and dislocation. And being a parent seems to equate to being perpetually worried, punctuated now and then by moments of intense joy.

But, two things. First, I’m proud of the trajectory as I look through the 60-odd posts I’ve plonked here in the past eight months. Sure, there’s a lot of venting about the lunacy of the United States and the moron that is Donald Trump. Yet, critically, there’s also the re-emergence of me, in all of my dubious glory and in my writing voice.

And second, there’s nowhere I’d rather be. If I was offered a deal to end up exactly where I am today on the basis I endure everything exactly as I have, I’d take it. Noting that we end up where we’re meant to be isn’t exactly insightful, but it’s a cliche because it’s true. It also happens to be the only option—pending my eldest son inventing the time machine he keeps talking about—so acceptance is key.

This past year has given me a richer, deeper appreciation of all I have and all I have to look forward to. It’s taken a lot of introspection that hasn’t, at times, been easy—either to do, or to accept. More than anything, though, I can thank other people for helping me realize I’m enough. They know who they are, and knowing they’re alongside me now and forever makes this new chapter not just bearable, but wonderful.

So, what’s the plan? I hit 51 on Saturday, and the coming year (and decades ahead) can be described pretty simply. To be surrounded by people I love and who love me back. To live simply with just enough, treasuring experiences over possessions. And to be the best father I can be, by not only caring for and protecting my boys but empowering them to be kind, loving, strong, and independent.

In the meantime, I’ve got loved ones to cherish, a state to move to, adventures to plan, and work to do. But I’ll also keep noodling here, which you can consider either a promise or a threat. Either way, I suspect that in addition to having a lot more to accomplish, I’ve still got a lot more to say.

A note about whatever this is …

After writing a few thousand articles for newspapers and magazines, I spent a long time trying a bunch of other stuff. I guess I figured what came (relatively) easily must by definition be less valuable, so I wandered in the corporate wilderness, becoming increasingly frustrated and doing work that felt increasingly lousy.

Sometimes with age comes wisdom, and I’ve realized finding something (relatively) easy ain’t a bad thing. So, this is a space where I’m resurrecting writing for myself, on topics weird and wild and wonderful.

Posts will appear when the mood takes me, but I do try to be consistently inconsistent—sometimes it’ll be a couple of days between drinks; sometimes a week. But if you subscribe, you’ll get a email letting you know I’m ranting. Again.

1. I love it, mum.