Youth = done.

In one week my twenties will be behind me.

The decade where you can do anything, go anywhere, sleep with anyone and risk what little you have whenever you feel like it.

When it’s ok not to know stuff, it doesn’t matter how much money you’ve saved and you’re probably healthy despite drinking a lot and exercising little.

Having spent my childhood longing for it, and most of the time stressing that it will end, I’ve tried to make the most of my twenties.

I’m currently typing left handed after breaking my right arm skateboarding, onto a work laptop after a bottle of white wine destroyed mine during a DJ set.

This post will be uploaded using super-fast internet from a small inner north rental, during time allocated for wedding planning as well as pitching an internet talkshow for my rock and roll band.

My 30th birthday will mark the end of ten years sprinting – working full-time in public relations while touring the country and stretching myself across too many creative projects. I’ve lost touch with a lot of friends to maintain this workload, while falling more in love with one person.

I’m wearing the one pair of jeans I own that don’t have a ripped crotch, although they’re about to rip, and an expensive button up shirt underneath a ripped cardigan I found on the street and have never washed. I shaved my head five years ago and now my beard is turning grey.

In five years time I will be a father, devoting every moment to my children and earning as much money as I possibly can in an advertising agency.

I’ll be a few rungs lower than I’d hoped, due to a late career change. The new bunch of graduates will set forth arm in arm to the trendy burger joint as I eat my 300th ham and cheese sandwich in a row, so we can afford to redo the kitchen.

Eventually starting my own creative agency will provide the adrenaline I used to find in rock and roll, but I’ll still miss it every time I feel the kick drum through a big PA.

Our modern but snug inner city home will be noisy and sometimes smell like damp washing and child vomit, but sometimes my family will make me so happy that I’ll cry privately in the studio.

Right now it’s hard to tell if I’m doing great or falling short, proud or ashamed, a bright star or never-was-been, talent or misfit.

I’m chasing my dreams but they’re always just a bit further away, and always will be. I plan to spend the next five years working harder on less stuff, and enjoying it more.

Key learnings from my twenties:

  • Carry a notepad everywhere and write the date at the top of each page.
  • Free-to-air television is a waste of your life.
  • Don’t beat yourself up when you’re hungover.
  • Everyone else is just as scared, so don’t worry if they say your idea is shit.

[I’ll review my statistics if they can get the white wine out of my computer].


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