The Dirty Thirty Birthday

So I’ve hit it.

30.

To quote CeCe Peniston, “finally it’s happened to me”.

It’s a generic speed limit for most roads in the UK. It’s three years outside of the admission criteria for the 27 club. It’s the amount of years Marty McFly travelled back in time. It’s the amount of silver coins Judas sold out Jesus for and the second game in a point of tennis.

When I was 5 years old, I proclaimed to my family that I’d be a multi millionaire, 5 years ago. With a desert island in tow (for which my favourite Aunty frequently reminds me). Still hasn’t happened.

Through life circumstances I have a lot of friends either older or younger than me and in regards to hitting 30, the former say, “be careful with your weight and say goodbye to your hairline”, whilst the latter retort jokes of getting older and fail to remember they can’t buy time. (You’re not JT and this isn’t 'In Time’)

My parents will probably rejoice about how their small boy has grown in to a big man, as I hope to spend another 30 years with them.

Personally I am not worried about the landmark but conscious of a few things.

1 — Biologically my body will need increased amounts of exercise and begin to slow down from it’s peak.

2 — The hair debate I used to have with, 's curl or high top' will become, 'just shave it off or continue to force it’. (I’m ready to make that Morris Chesnut transition)

3 — Don’t sweat the fruits of the next year too much and place emphasis on the next five.

4 — Potential has many faces but it doesn’t look like Queen Elizabeth’s on a pinky, so knuckle down and put in that work.

5 — Speak child-like optimism into my life and watch it bare fruit(being your biggest critic has diminishing returns at times). But remember that faith with no walk is pointless.

I look forward to this next juncture in my life. Life is a gift and the loss of dear friends and family over the past 2 years has only reinforced this. With Brexit, Trump and Tottenham riding high in the league, it might seem like a f**ked up time to be alive. But I’m alive. And my only promise on this birthday, is to live.

I don’t mean going out and getting legless, as I’m currently indoors reading my younger cousin’s dissertation.

Damn that old age is a bugger.

Just like 30 is the second stage in a game of tennis, it’s the second stage in this game of life and I’m looking to play a blinder.

P.s. Happy 30th in advance to Lionel Messi. Another good man hitting the milestone this year and the second best footballer I’ve seen alive. Number one is Ronaldo. Not Cristiano but the Phenomenon from Brazil.