So here I am at forty years of age. What does that mean? Good question.

Well, to start with I have a book to jump-start my understanding. A birthday present called “Men Navigating Midlife” by Robyn Vickers-Willis. It Looks Good. Every chapter speaks to stuff I am thinking about right now, so I’m really looking forward to reading this one and spending some time reflecting.

Now, I’ve raised another question. One that keeps coming back. At forty, am I about half-way through my life? Can I call on modern medical science and claim that the middle of my life is five or ten years away, at 45, or 50? Looking at the Australian Bureau of Statistics Year Book, it suggests that my average life expectancy, given I’ve already made it to forty, is 79.14. So, on average, nearly eighty.

This is a nice indirect way of contemplating my own death. With statistics. It feels creepy and scary. This is my death we are talking about here, on average nearly forty years from today. Hmm.

On average, there is more of my life behind me than ahead of me. I am past the tipping point. That is something. That is an inspiration of a sort.