Today at the bank the guy had to fill in a blank for my life expectancy. Without a second thought he wrote: 67.
In hindsight, I realise he simply added 30 years to my age. But just for a moment there i was struck with a sort of fortune-telling stun. As if he knew something I shouldn’t and it had been accidentally revealed to me.
Thirty years?! My kids will be just about my age. Will I see them marry and have kids? Have I got time to do all the things I want to do? What were the things I wanted to do again?
I realised his game and suppressed the shock and easily sank back into lackadaisical live-forever mode.
Maybe we should be given an expiry date to spur us out of any ruts and into action. Thirty-years-and-counting-get-on-with-it might make me look up from my computer screen and focus on the world around me.