Apparently old age hits when you are 68, or so I read. I’m not sure why that is, and I’m sure smarter people than me have outlined the reasons in great detail but, on the whole, it sounds about right given that I’m soon to turn 50 and I do not think I’m all that old.
Some days I feel old but I’m not really 50, I’m somewhere in my late twenties I think, it’s hard to pin down an exact number but that’s where my head usually lands when someone asks me how old I am. Isn’t that weird.
The truth of the matter is that I am very aware that I’m about to turn 50 but that’s entirely down to the fact I have an almost 2 year old son. He is at once a constant source of delight and wonder, and a reminder of my advancing mortality.
When Becca and I first got together, she shared her desires to have a baby. It was something I’d consider in the past (and obviously decided against) but with Becca it felt right, it felt like where our lives would head naturally and I quickly found myself delightedly agreeing.
With that thought in my head I found myself starting to think what would be required to bring a healthy baby, safely into the world. From conception, through the pregnancy, and the birth itself I admit there were many worries on my mind. As soon as we knew we were pregnant, despite all the checkups going well, it was hard for me not to worry about the baby being healthy, and when it was time to head to the delivery suite my head was full of conflicting thoughts should the worse happen. Thankfully it didn’t, with Jack arriving safe and sound, and Becca handling all of it (and the post-partum issues) with the strength and compassion I knew to expect from her.
There was also one recurring thought that still pings around my brain. It started soon after we agreed that we would be having a baby and continues to this day.
How much of my son’s life will I see?
How old will I be when Jack starts school, how old when he learns to drive, when he turns 21… 30?
Early on I hoped these thoughts would drive me to get healthier and fitter, the longer to live to see him grow up, and whilst that hasn’t really panned out, it’s still a big factor of my thinking.
I know a lot of this train of thought was driven by the (still recent) passing of my Dad. He was only 73 and though my Mum is still going strong in my head I’m always hoping I can at least make it to the same age my Dad was, that’ll make Jack 25 years old and hopefully I’ll grow old with some comfort that he’s turned out ok (I mean, I know he will, but I’m a parent, we worry about these things).
It is a strange thing to have your mortality so clearly outlined. It’s certainly not something I’ve previously considered in great depth largely because I was only really concerned about myself. Turning 40 was seen as a celebration and a chance to mark ‘half a life’ lived, but with the constantly running commentary in my head centred around how many more years of life with Jack I’ll manage, turning 50 seems much more daunting, not to mention so much closer to, well, death.
Wow.
I should pause at this point and remind you, dear reader, that I tend to write these posts with only a rough idea of what I’m going to say in my mind, barely an outline, and usually only a starting point. So forgive this rather morbid turn!
OK, so I’ll be 50 soon but I don’t really FEEL that age… that said can someone tell me how am I supposed to feel? From what I can tell, if my closest friends are anything to go by I don’t really see much difference, and whilst I know these days I’m mostly just a bit tired I think that’s more about living with a toddler than anything to do with how many years I’ve lived on this planet.
I am almost 50. I have zero complaints. I have a great life, have had many great life experiences, and find myself settled, content, and happy, with a beautiful family. I feel loved by many people, and none of that has anything to do with my age.
I’ll admit I do harbour a deep-seated desire to make sure that when I do pop my clogs I’ll leave my beautiful wife and beautiful boy financially sorted but that’s still a work in progress. For now we have a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and we laugh more often than we cry… actually we laugh more often than most things, we are a happy little pack of weirdos!
A few years ago, with this number starting to loom, I started a little plan I called Fit for Fifty, and it was going pretty well. I got back into running and completed a few 5KM runs. I got heavily into cycling, and last year I had about 5 different organised ‘sportives’ booked. I was driven. I was focused! Annnnnnd I hadn’t really taken into account the time it takes to train for these things versus the time it takes to nurture a baby…
I didn’t make ANY of those sportives and it’s only really now, since I’ve recently managed to get back out on my bike a couple of times, that I realise just how much of a back seat my plans had taken.
Yes, for the best of reasons (there is literally NOTHING I wouldn’t do for that boy) but it still has an impact on my physical and mental health. I’m slowing getting back into it, but still struggling to find time, and when I do have time I’m exhausted and struggle with motivation, it’s a horrible cycle (no pun intended) to be stuck in!
Perhaps this post is my way of giving myself a kick. Or perhaps that was when I signed up for the 2024 Etape Caledonia cycle sportive (55 miles up some big hills), either way there is a vague sense of being able to get my fitness goals back on track. Like I said I have a much bigger incentive than ever before, and I’m doing my best to use the happiest moments with my wife and son to coax my exercise mojo out from its hiding place.
So I’m turning 50, so what! It’s just a number and as I’ve mentioned here before, with life starting to open up again I can look ahead to the future with hope and love. It’s just a number, and if nothing else matters then I can take a look at how all of my closest friends are ageing and take solace that I’m still not quite as old as them, even if it is only a matter of months…
Category: Life
For the stuff about my life
Almost 50
Hotel Life
Hotels are strange places. Particular the big chains that always give me pause when I am woken from my slumber by an early alarm, those initial few seconds it takes to remember where I am in the world when confronted by yet another bland room with the exact same layout as the other bland rooms I’ve stayed in before.
To be fair, most of the time I only every stay in a hotel for a few nights so as long as it’s clean, has a decent bed and a shower, I don’t need much more. It is but a roof over my head, a base to explore the world from, so my requirements of a hotel room aren’t the most extravagant. As long as it’s good enough it’s good enough for me, as I’m sure someone else once said.
It’s no coincidence that I am writing this very post whilst sitting on a not too uncomfortable chair, in front of an almost usefully sized desk in a Premier Inn which, as expected, is as perfectly innocuous as any other. It’s quite a skill to have the interior design of such places broken down into a perfectly repeatable format that is used so often I’m sure most of you can picture the room I’m in without any more description.
This is not to putdown this, or any other, budget level hotel. They have a valuable place in the world and part of that is down to their insipid offerings. The fact that each Premier Inn room is essentially the same, that every Tune hotel has the same offerings (no I don’t need a window or more than one towel thanks), and all come with such similar colour schemes that there becomes a tranquility and comfort in their familiarity. When you’ve spent a day exploring the world, or been working in a new location, it’s nice to have a calm space that doesn’t challenge or overload your brain. Long live mediocrity.
I guess that’s why, when you do stay at a hotel that has put some thought into the little details or offers decorative touches that stand out, those are the ones that leave an impression. It can be the simplest of things – USB charging points next to both sides of the bed for example – that stand out, and many times it’s a tiny detail that in hindsight makes you wonder why EVERY hotel doesn’t have such a thing.
As mentioned staying at a hotel with USB points, as well as standard plugs, on both sides of the bed, seems like such a trifling matter on its own, but if you include a remote control for the air conditioning, a choice of pillows in the cupboard and not one but three different, large, surfaces to accumulate all the junk we end up with us when we travel, and what could’ve been a basic hotel room quickly goes up in your expectation. Add in some unique design touches, maybe eye catching wallpaper, or a luxurious armchair (to throw your clothes on) and suddenly it all feels so much more luxurious.
The flipside of this though is that such rooms aren’t familiar. The minute I step into the room of a more upmarket hotel, one that has a bigger budget to equip and decorate the room I’m always aware of the money I’ve spent, and try to take in the details, make sure I use all the facilities. I act like I’m staying in a hotel, I’m aware I’m staying in a hotel and I always feel a little out of place. As much as I like my creature comforts, I’m a man of simple tastes for the most part, happy to make do with the basics as long as those basics are good enough.
A posh hotel room is too far from what we have at home, it doesn’t feel familiar, it doesn’t feel safely unchallenging, it reminds me that I am not at home, that I am far from my loved ones.
So you can keep your high thread count linens, and complimentary robes and slippers, give me something bland and familiar.
Wow, I’m not sure I could be any more middle-aged than this.
I am Premier Inn.
Everything changes
We human beings are a strange and complicated lot in many ways, none more so than when something alters in our worldview. I know that change is viewed by a lot of people as a bad thing yet it seems that, when it is thrust upon us, we adapt to it far more easily than we have anticipated.
I guess fear of the unknown is likely the biggest factor and the higher your natural anxiety levels are the more that can become the focus and start to dominate our thoughts as the upcoming change looms before us. On the other hand change can be seen as an opportunity, something to embrace and be excited about, even if it can be daunting. Like I said, us humans are a complex bunch.
Having recently started a new job for the first time in – checks notes – over 7 years, and I’ll be working in a new location too. It’s what is now being referred to as a hybrid role, with a minimum of 2 days a week in the office so whilst it’s not every single day, it is the first office I’ve stepped into in over 4 years. Quite a change from working at home, and it took me a couple of days to realise quite why I was SO exhausted after only a few days back in an office environment.
When COVID struck, my previous employer sent us all to work from home for a while and there I stayed, with all the perks it entails for almost four years; dress how you want, listen to music if you want, better coffee, ability to do quick chores or help out with your new born son etc. I was more than happy and I don’t really think my work suffered because of it; interactions with my colleagues were limited to online meetings, chats, and the (very) occasional phone call. It made some things more challenging but not impossible.
Fast forward to today and here I am, back in a large open plan office, with all the associated background noise and people (actual people!) that I need to chat with and interact with all day long. From the first friendly ‘morning’, the random chats about latest news topics, and work related queries as people wander up to my desk (or I to theirs), it’s all a lot more people-ing than I’ve done for a long time. And my goodness it’s tiring!
It’s not a complaint, far from it, but it wasn’t something I’d accounted for when I started this new job, the emotional energy required to just talk to numerous different people for any length of time took more out of me than I’d realised. I know it’ll change as I get to know people better and get used to all this talking and interacting again, but heck it’s way harder than I remember it being in the past. That said, with hybrid roles becoming more and more prevalent I’m not anticipating being in an office 5 days a week ever again.
What’s weird is to think about how I used to behave in an office environment, my work persona isn’t all that different from my day to day attitudes so, for those who know me well, you can imagine that I’m just as chatty and cheeky with my work colleagues as I am with my friends. However the first few days in this new role, even taking into account the amount of information I’m ingesting as I try to get up to speed, felt very different, and very draining.
I’m into my third week now and it’s already getting easier so I guess I’m just out of practice?
It’s a big change at home as well, all of a sudden I’m not there for entire days. I’ve got about 10 mins from when I get Jack up at 7am before I need to leave to get the train (if I’m cycling in I’m already gone by the time he gets up), and then I don’t get home until 6pm which is an hour before he goes to bed. His bedtime routine is the same at least, bath with Mummy, then Daddy puts him down to sleep but we no longer get to spend an hour or so hanging out each morning, I don’t see him at either lunch or dinner on the days I’m in the office.
It’s a change for Becca too, nap time was something I helped with during the day but I can’t if I’m not there. Dinner time is the same and whilst Jack is much more independent these day, he’s an inquisitive and active little boy so you still need to have eyes in the back of our head!
And for me I’ve found some old habits returning; I’m getting lost in the overwhelming amount of information I’m trying to absorb, and with all the emotional energy I’m running through when I’m in the office I’ve not quite got the balance right. But I will. I’m keen to do well in this new job – it’s not a contract so the whole career thing is back to being part of my thinking – but the big learning from the COVID years and then the arrival of my precious boy is to keep a good work/life balance. I’ve struggled with this in the past, but it’s clearer to me now, clearer than ever, that having a happy home is all that really matters.
That means making sure Jack is happy and healthy, making sure Becca is happy and healthy, and making sure I’m happy and healthy (don’t worry the dogs are fine too!). As ever it’s about finding the balance, taking a few moments for myself now and then to make sure I’m not losing myself in ‘work mode’ or ‘Dad mode’, making sure Becca and I have time as a couple (we are super excited for brunch together next week), and of course making sure that the most important person in the house is catered for as best we can manage.
We worry sometimes that we could be better, do better, do more, for Jack but I guess that makes us good parents, we worry about that stuff and do our best to keep his mind stimulated and his body moving. I think it’s going pretty well, the last few weeks he’s started to string words and sounds together, so soon there will be one more voice for me to deal with and I cannot wait.
Que serĆ” serĆ”
I start a new job this week – on a Wednesday for some reason – my first new job for several years. It wasnāt planned but as my first day approaches Iām getting more and more eager to get going.
Throughout my career working life Iāve only ever really wanted to do something useful, Iāve never really had a mind for building a career as many do, not had a view of where I want to be in 5 years and, as I get older thatās increasingly the case. Que serĆ”, serĆ” and all that.
My first full-time job was in my local McDonalds. Iād worked there through college/uni and transitioned to full-time hours for a while before landing a job in a small software company, made redundant from there I moved down south for another job that I would get made redundant from a year later. A third job for a year or so before moving back to Scotland to a small āfamilyā software company that moved to Glasgow city centre and remains (so far) the only company Iāve voluntarily left! From Glasgow city centre to another small āfamilyā software company which went through numerous mergers and buyouts before, some 10 years later, making me redundant again. And so to my last role, my first as a contractor, which lasted almost 7 years before they terminated my contract the day before our recent holiday in France.
My roles have changed throughout all those companies, Iāve never been one for rigid job definitions and preferred the smaller companies where there was more opportunity to get involved with other things; Iām joining another small family company this week and it sounds like there will be similar opportunities there.
That and itās an hour cycle away so, weather permitting, Iāll cycle to the office when I do go in (2 days a week). Given public transport takes an hour as well, itāll be good for my health and bank balance to get back on my bike.
And at the end of the day, whilst I am hoping to will be fulfilling and interesting, itās just a job. One thing I have learned through COVID lockdowns, and the birth of my son, is that work is just that, a means to an end. As long as we can pay the bills, feed the family and keep a roof over our heads then what else is there to worry about?
24 years old
Happy Birthday you old blog you!
It started with this nonsense about sunglasses, which feels appropriate as, at this very moment I am on holiday in France and have the beginnings of tan lined where my sunglasses sit on my face.
The publishing frequency has dropped but as life evolves I am not giving up on this dusty old corner of the internet just yet.
Plans for getting back out cycling are forming, Jack is more and more independent (not 2 yet but is happiest pottering about in his own wee world), and the act of writing still holds a part of who I am.
Still, 24 years is a long time. Well done little blog!!
Moving Home
Coming home I feel like I,
Guy Garvey (Elbow) – Station Approach
Designed these buildings I walk by
When I finally left Dumbarton, the town I grew up in, a place that holds more memories for me than any other, I never looked back. Iād long since felt like Iād outgrown the increasingly claustrophobic small town feel that is common when you live in a place where more people seem to accept they will stay than those that try to leave. The move away was one of necessity (Iād gotten a job in England) but it felt timely as I was still in my early twenties, newly married, and ready to see more of the world.
The world is a big place, but I did get as far as Aylesbury for a couple of tumultuous years and Dumbarton remained a place regularly visited to see family members a couple of times a year.
Scotland eventually dragged me back and I spent a few years in Hamilton, before a divorce pushed me to move to the West End of Glasgow, a place I finally felt at home in, even if I did move three times within the G11/G12 post code!
Now Iām a husband again and a happy father and, as seems to be the story arc of such things, Iāve just finished moving back to Dumbarton, which is both my and Beccaās hometown.
In the lead up to the move I was feeling decidedly odd about it, something wasnāt sitting quite right in my (admittedly sleep deprived foggy) brain.
Maybe it was because Becca grew up here too and although weāve been chatting about our own histories and memories of this town, the age gap between us means we hadnāt crossed paths back then so there isnāt any common ground.
Maybe it was because I spent far too long deriding this town a little too harshly; the vigours of youth giving me a perceived insight to the downfalls of life in a rural town that hindsight tells me was more than a little false.
Or maybe it was because I was always so desperate to leave that coming back feels like some sort of step backwards?
Regardless, it was back to Dumbarton for us, a place we both know well and I have to admit that, putting aside all those remnants from my childhood, I find Iām looking forward to (re)discovering this place with my son. As it turns out, I find I do have more than a few fond memories of Dumbarton.
As we settle into this next chapter of our life here, I am wondering why I was so desperate to leave in the first place.
Dumbarton is, on the face of it, a fairly average town. Itās stereotypical in every sense, a dying high street, retail parks with all the usual fast food outlets and supermarkets, and few attractions of note. But itās wonderfully positioned a short distance from Loch Lomond (the gateway to the Highlands), not far to the big city of Glasgow, it has a lovely park (with a ParkRun), and an added bonus that we are now a 10 min walk from my Mum and a short journey to my sister.
With all that in mind Iām keen to rediscover the town as Iāve not lived here for a couple of decades and I now have an inquisitive boy to show around. That will be the joy of it I think, showing Jack around all the parts of the town I enjoyed when I was a kid, exploring the Overtoun woods, playing at Levengrove Park, walks up the (Lang) Craigs and beyond, the excellent cycle path a few minutes from our door, and more.
Of course itās hard not to compare Dumbarton to other places Iāve lived.
When I moved to the West End of Glasgow I finally felt āhomeā. Itās a wonderful place, a delightful mish-mash of cultures thanks to the proximity of the university and the desirable (expensive) location for those with money; Upmarket deliās compete with basic boozers, charity shops sit alongside boutiques, the range of cuisines is extensive, and the numerous coffee shops buzz with gossip and laughter from groups of parents whoāve just dropped their kids off at school, whilst at the next table a headphone clad student is deep in study.
And my last place of residence – Bothwell – has a lovely village feel whilst still having all the desirable mod cons, was a great gateway to the surrounding area, with a local walk along the Clyde a wonderful hidden joy stumbled across when I was walking Dave one day.
Of course, such comparisons arenāt fair if only for the changes to my own circumstance these past 18 months or so.
With a new outlook on life and new requirements on where I live it became very easy to move back here. It wasnāt such a bad place to grow up after all, and Becca and I turned out ok so there is every chance it will be the same for Jack.
I always enjoyed the accessibility of the great outdoors – 30 mins one way – and the ābig cityā – 30 mins the other – and itās got everything you really need (although Iād kill for a good sushi place locally!), and after that the re-discovery of it is a little bit of an, admittedly nostalgia tinged, adventure!
Thereās the pub I used to drink in (long since shuttered and dormant) and, across the road, thatās where the other one was (now knocked down and a foot path to a new housing association development. Thatās where Woolworths was, and that big boat engine used to be in the town centreā¦ and on and on and on.
So it turns out that those unsettling feelings that had crept into my brain werenāt driven by negativity towards this place, nor were they dredged up from my past rather, it seems, it is the familiarity and sameness that has caught me off-guard. Whilst there are a few new establishments here and there (although most have gone the way of most small local businesses recently) it still all feels the same as it ever was.
Given that one of my constant joys of having moved around so much was getting to know my local area, exploring the lanes, the local businesses, and learning how to fit in to the feel of the place, is it any wonder moving to some place I know so well was me a little off-kilter?
But I realise that perhaps itās better this way, returning to some place familiar. I donāt need to explore it, it holds no surprises for me. Instead I can embrace the familiarity and use it to my advantage and perhaps I can start to see this town anew as I explore it all over again, through the eyes of my beautiful boy.