28

So the past two days have been spent wallowing in an endless pit of self-pity. And as if that wasn't bad enough, I was telling people why I was feeling blue and low and down. Online and offline, whether they cared a little or not at all, I was subjecting people to my endless whining about... well, of all things, turning 28 tomorow.

Yes, I had become that person. I was just short of falling on my knees, clutching at my collar and tearing at my hair howling, "Why God, WHYYYYYYY?"

I was making the mistake all of us make at some point in our lives, which I, of course, happen to make at regular intervals. I was comparing my life to a set standard of what's acceptable and what isn't. I was remembering all the people who were 28 when I was 6, remembering how grown-up, settled down and sorted they seemed to me. I was thinking of all the people I know in their 30s, how they used to be in their 20s. And I was thinking of all the people I know now, who're in their 20s, who seem so very accomplished and successful and all of whom seem to know where they're headed.

I don't know where I'm headed. I don't know if I'll ever do anything worthwhile. I don't when or if I'll get married. I don't know where I'll be living this time next year, if I'll be in the same job or even the same profession. I don't know if I'll be a resounding success or a colossal failure. And that's scary - this feeling of being unmoored and free on the proverbial sea of possibilities is a terrifying prospect for someone who prefers the stability of land.

And then, I remembered something my dad had told me: that none of us know what's going to happen in life and that's a good thing. What would be the point, he'd said, if we knew every single accident, incident and trifle that would happen to us? No, the joy of living lies in its unexpectedness, in that glorious ignorance of what's waiting around the corner - the love of your life or a stranger with a knife.

None of us know what will happen and more importantly for how long it will happen to us. Unlike the plastic capped medicine bottles that have become our solace against the world, we don't know our exact expiry dates. Which makes it all the more important that we stop wasting moments of boredom on 'oh-how-I-wish' and 'if-I-had-only' and 'what's-going-to-happen-to-me?'

Which is what I'm going to do. Come midnight and I will have a drink in my hand, a smile on my face and a life. I think I could do much worse.