There was a time when I thought I might marry Matthew McConaughey. Not that I want to now. Really, I don't. But back then it was conceivable, as I was studying acting in the very next country and there was every chance we might cross paths. This was not some tenuous teenage fantasy. I was 25 for starters. I was also serious. That was back when I still thought anything was possible. Before I reached 35, when it would be too late.
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Thirty-five was my age of giving up, my cut-off point for achieving all I desired. Some admirable people stretch it out to 40 and a rare few beyond that, but most of us have a self-imposed deadline on our dreams – not necessarily because they are fanciful but because they are exhausting. The rush to meet goals, fulfil expectations and give everything a shot tapers off as we age and accept our lot. It is such a relief.
No longer in the angst-ridden business of yearning, us post-35ers are free to accept that this is it. This is the course of our life from now on. As good as it gets. Now that the pressure to make something of ourselves has dissipated, we can at last chill out and appreciate all we've got. It is clear how it is all going to pan out. It is even clearer who we think we are.
Those in the Seven Up! documentary series are similarly afflicted. Pre-35, the subjects were fuelled by dreams of a better life. After 35, they have one thing in common: resignation. Not defeat, but a realisation the path is now set and won't deviate dramatically from here. If it hasn't happened yet, chances are it's not going to. And while there may be some peace in putting a lid on our hankering, the price is just as likely niggling regret as we accept we will never win an Oscar, invent an app or marry the love of our life.
I've always admired the late starters. Like Susan Boyle. It isn't just her voice – although it stops me in my tracks whenever I hear it – that gets me in. I love her because she thought life was a council house in Blackburn with a spot in the church choir. At 48 she became a global sensation with a gazillion CD sales.
My great-grandfather became a barrister at 59 after drought forced him and eight children off the land. In his 50s, Ray Kroc turned McDonald's into the world's most successful fast-food operation. Style maven Marion von Adlerstein has just published her first novel at 79. As George Eliot once said: "It's never too late to be what you might have been."
Our teens are the age of trial and error, experimenting wildly with everything that comes our way, from striped stockings (I did) to ecstasy (I didn't), goaded by a legitimate sense that we have all the time in the world. In our 20s the stakes are higher as we assess more hard-core stuff like careers and life partners; we sample several of each and dispense with them with all the reckless abandon of knowing there's more where they came from. We get to work out who we love, clear of any biological deadline or accusations of being too fussy. We're encouraged to travel and live in a foreign country, quickly while we still can, because working-holiday visas expire around 31. We run through life breathless and mildly panicked as the finish line edges into view. It is the last-chance hurrah to consolidate before the winter of our life kicks in.
Somewhere in between we decide who we are. In my case, from inconsequential determinations – such as I am blonde (have tried brunette but it washes me out), prefer memoir over fiction, dance whenever possible – to more profound: I like people but need time alone, am sentimental and believe in the power of love, am sensitive and not as strong as others think. And I don't care as much what others think.
Sometimes circumstances force us to interrupt the trajectory and overhaul our lives. Motherhood will do that when, often for the first time, someone else becomes our priority. Divorce will do it, too. A friend, elated by the end of a toxic marriage, has taken up yoga with fervour. Another resigned to singledom fell in love at 44 and inherited an instant family.
We could take a lesson from Gen-Yers, who will change jobs every two to four years without a backward glance. They cop flak for their fickleness but I bet all that transformation is keeping them alive.
If it's too daunting to change what we do, we can always change who we are. I am far more centred and content than I ever was at 25. And I have lifted the deadline on my dreams. Matthew McConaughey may no longer be up for grabs. But reinvention is.
Jacinta Tynan is an author and presenter at Sky News Australia; jacintatynan.com.
Styling by Maia Liakos. Hair and make-up by Natalia Sprem.
From: Sunday Life
