According to my wise friend, the ends of old decades are much harder than the beginning of new ones. ‘When you’re 40,’ she said, ‘it’s a celebration and everyone tells you how good you look.’
Only two more years.
This, by the way, is a photo I took on my birthday when we walked along a beach where no one else had left their footprints that day and my littlest boy drew tracks in the sand, my eldest boy bounced, and everyone poked their fingers into anenomes.
So really, you have to wonder where is all this ‘what have I got to show for my life’ coming from?
Maybe it’s because there was no cake.