About a decade ago, on the eve of my 20th birthday, I was paralysed with an impending sense of existential doom. With my teenage years now behind me I believed that my youth (and therefore my life) was essentially over. A truly asinine thought to look back on as I approach another milestone birthday – 30.
As it turns out, I wasn’t suddenly transformed into a haggard crone as soon as the clock hit midnight like some kind of grotesque Cinderella; I was still a fresh-faced baby turning into an ever-so-slightly older baby who had no idea on how to operate in the world – who among us does at that age?
