Turning 35 didn’t worry me half as much as turning 30 did. Maybe that’s because 35 is only half a decade, only half a turning point. Maybe it’s because there are fewer things left undone now – now that we have kids, I mean.
Whatever it might be, turning 35 has been a relatively painless experience.
Not entirely painless, however. I took my bike out for some small errand nearby, and on the way I dropped it. It was completely stupid and unwarranted and I felt quite angry with myself about it. But I scraped my elbow and my knee and bruised my hip and my ego and as I moaned to Amit about all the pain, I thought: Maybe I am getting too old for this.
Nonsense, of course, but some things do hurt.