So, this time next week I’ll be, for want of a better word, celebrating my birthday. I’ll be thirty-one. And what normally happens as I approach that day is that I get grumpy. I’m not a huge fan of my birthday. I like other people’s – they’re fab – just not mine. I end up comparing my life now with how I imagined it’d be when I was younger and, mostly, it’s a very different thing indeed.
But maybe I can be a little ungrateful. Maybe I can be a little hard on myself. Although I feel old I’ve not really done that bad so far. I’ve had three books published and people have liked them, for starters. And that’s cool. And it makes me feel lucky too.
But – and here’s the thing – I wonder if I’ll ever be satisfied. And I wonder if not ever being satisfied (happy?) is what keeps me doing this. Because, as much as it’s fun, it’s hard work.
So, right now, and for the next week or so, as well as writing and editing and all that kind of thing, I’m going to try to not be grumpy about getting older and about all those things I thought I’d have, or have done, by now. Because there’s a lot I should be grateful for. Who knows, I might even relax a bit.