Age. Just a number.
Its never too late to start doing something new. Or restart something.
Or do something that you took for granted earlier; something that just happened in the margins of notebooks in a boring class or in the blank space at the end of a chapter in a textbook.
Do it. Now. Before you turn into a jargon-permuting automaton.
On a separate note its kinda fun to do this kind of thing at night, get to office the next morning after 4 hours of sleep, smiling, looking like someone punched you between the eyes and have everyone around you go crazy at the coffee machine, “What time did you sleep last night? What were you doing staying up so late? Are you all right? Are you sure? Pictures? Why pictures? What kind of pictures? Are you all right? Get married.”
Just like Fight Club.
Age : a number, a measure of time spent, a measure of time left, etc., nothing you didn’t already know, and if you think of it, nothing that should bother you more today than it did yesterday.
Just a number.
“Sometimes the whole is greater than the sum of its parts,” says the cheesily positive corporate trainer, talking about passion or synergy or the latest in testing-hardware or something equally generic. “F*** you,” i say; i hate positivity and i hate people telling me how to lead my life. I like telling people how they should lead their lives. I should be a trainer.
But i digress.
This trainer might have been onto something. Misguided probably, but definitely onto something. The older i get, the more often i think about one day having to turn back and take stock of all i’ve done. And this is the deal : i want to be able to look at the years and say that the result has indeed been greater than just a simple sum of the years spent on the way.
The older i get, the more cynical i get, the less sure i am of this happening and that worries me.
Somewhere along the way life turns into a series of numbers for most of us. Ages at which we got our degrees, number of degrees, seniority grades at work, last year’s salary increment, the year before last year’s h-index.
Just numbers. Like co-ordinates to pin us down on a giant multidimensional space representing life and where we stand w.r.t. the rest of the world on it.
“Oh look, there’s the ne’er-do-well last-bencher from school and oh look, there’s the vice-president for body-on-frame platforms.”
People. Just numbers.
Only problem : they aren’t. No matter how hard you kid yourself.
People. Not numbers. Not most of the time.