Two things.

One: A pretty decent Dido song.

Two: That feeling of being a squatter within your own existence.

Reflection is always a bit of a double edged sword for me in that it gives me a great opportunity to look back on where I once was, who I once was and realise how far I have came. The negative side is it can often show how slow the progression has been and more often than not that pains me.

Let me explain.

I can remember being around 15/16 and trying to picture what my life would be like at 25, at 30, at 40, all the big milestones. I can clearly remember thinking that 40 was bloody ancient and no matter how hard I would try I just couldn’t picture myself at that age, couldn’t really envisage how that would look for me. I’d look to my parents, my older relatives and see long established families, stable households and happy marriages but I kinda knew even then that that was never my path, always believed that would never happen for me. (Remember, in the early ‘90’s being queer was still a pretty big issue for some and marriage wasn’t even a remote possibility, certainly not for a wee gowkie from small(ish)-town Scotland). I think I had an instinct even then that my life would follow its own path and be what it was.

And it did.

The thing is, now I actually AM 40 (well 42, and how that happened when I was 25 just ten minutes ago I’ll never know, but anyway…) now I am the age I always saw as ancient and verging on washed up I have this fucking irritating tendency to look back at the last 25 years or so and wonder what the hell I did with them and how the hell I managed to clearly piss them up against a wall and just waste them.

I look at people my own age, people I work with, trained with, people I’m close friends with and can’t help but compare myself with them. People who have followed clearly defined paths be that personal or professional. I look at colleagues who have made promotion quickly and repeatedly, I haven’t. I see friends who have met partners, married swiftly and started families. I can barely nurture a pot plant. All I see sometimes are people who have followed a very meticulously plotted timeline and have hit every fucking marker along the way. I can barely follow the path of a staircase without falling on my arse. Literally.

And that my dears is the biggest pressure of it all. My own self-imposed timeline.

You know the episode of Friends when Rachael turns 30? She starts talking about how she’d like to be married by a certain age, have kids by a certain age and realises by her own timeline she needs to have met the future husband/daddy by the time she’s 30? It’s kinda like that. At school there was always a feeling that life would go in a pretty ordered trajectory; hit mid teens, work out what you wanted to do for the rest of your life, go off to university or college and study, get a job, marry (maybe), have kids (maybe not), settle down and be content. Even though I was a flamin’ woofter I felt that that was the expectation of me and in my own little head had a pre-determined timeline of how my life would be.

But it didn’t exactly turn out that way.

I look at kids in their 20’s that have their managerial posts, their bought houses, their 10 year relationships and can’t help comparing that to myself and feeling…… less than inadequate. Not through envy or jealousy but through self reflection. It’s the old shoulda, coulda, woulda nonsense.

Shoulda done this sooner.

Coulda done this sooner.

Wish I could go back and I would do such and such differently.

Wish I hadn’t done such and such for so long.

Boy is THAT a complete hiding to nothing.

I mean it’s not exactly like we all live in Stepford is it? Every person is different, every person’s path is different and every person’s trajectory is different. I know this. I preach this, day in, day out. Maybe it’s just my own little way of coping with things in the past and keeping my brain from utterly imploding sometimes but one of my favourite mantras is ‘That Which Does Not Kill Me Makes Me Stronger’. I genuinely believe that the things I have experienced in my 42 years (again, how the hell has that happened….), every little instance, good, bad and indifferent have all been to shape me into who and what I am today. I know this. I live this. And yet still, right now I’m chastising myself for lost time, wasted chances and squandered days.  

I forget that during those squandered days and wasted chances I have actually achieved plenty! I had opportunities that many are not lucky enough to have; I travelled the world, met some amazing people, let go of some not so amazing people but more importantly gave myself the physical and emotional space to grow and blossom. I developed friendships that have been the absolute backbone of my adulthood, friendships that have dragged me kicking and screaming into emotional maturity. I forget that I have lived a few lives within this one life.

But I know why I chastise. I know EXACTLY why.

I’m finally at a point in my life where I am genuinely happy. I have an amazing partner by my side that I absolutely adore but more importantly my family are utterly besotted with. I’m healthy and hale and for the first time in a long, long time my family life is in a good place; no secrets, no dramas, just the usual dysfunctional family chaos and I love it. sometimes I just feel I should have been here sooner. I know It wasn’t ‘on my timeline’ and wasn’t meant to be that way but sometimes I can’t help myself but be hard on myself.  I’m always going to be self critical, I know this but if I can talk it through I might just be able to rationalise it in my own head and understand I’m right where I am meant to be and exactly when I’m meant to be there. How grown up does that sound??!!!

I used to think by the time I was 25 I’d be a ‘grown-up’.

Still not there and I’m 42.

FORTY FUCKING TWO!!!!!!!