Male, 30 (just), seeks low-risk thrills and new experiences

Having just turned thirty, I have been reflecting on preceding birthdays and have come to the conclusion that my last two birthdays rank, without question, as my two best birthdays so far. Forget those ones you had as a child where you’d have friends round and party bags – those supposedly golden, halcyon days don’t stack up next to my 29th and 30th birthdays.

Partly this is down to not actually being able to remember many of my young birthdays, barring a couple – one where I had a fight with my friend James Valcomo over a Spiderman helicopter that he wanted to play with, despite it being a present to me that I hadn’t even played with yet; the obligatory keeping-up-with-the-Jones’ McDonalds party where they gave you a tour of the kitchen and, the piece de resistance, took you in the freezers. Wow. There was another where my mum rented us the first Star Trek movie as my friends and I were all into sci-fi films (see notes on Star Wars above) but no-one was interested; another time I got given some Learning Tree books by a girl – Kathryn, I seem to recall – who was a couple of years older than me, and thinking about it, despite being no older than 6, was probably my first crush. That is, after Anna Louise Field and Claire Powell, both of whom I apparently ‘married’ during my first year at primary school. Actually, now that I’ve started to write about this, I can remember quite a few, but none are as memorable as the last two.

My 16th was quite good. It was a school day, but I woke up early to see my dad before he went to work. I got a Philips electric razor for my main present and a Depeche Mode black Violator T-shirt. As a class, we English Literature students went on a field trip that day, to the Swan Theatre in Stratford-upon-Avon to meet set designers and do an acting workshop, and then we watched All’s Well That Ends Well at the RSC in the afternoon. I’m not a thespian, nor was I particularly interested in the theatre at all (when you live in a town you want to rally against all that arty nonsense, until you move away and then you miss it), but it was a day out of school so that was good. The weekend after, however, was not – I was visited by my then-girlfriend, Hayley, and it should have been the evening of my first kiss (I was a late developer, okay?), but instead it became an awkward affair of clashing teeth and extreme embarrassment and we split up the following week.

My 18th was a disaster of far greater magnitude, seeing me end the evening being very sick into my lap in the main bar of Stratford’s Falcon Hotel, without having even got remotely drunk. It ranks among the most embarrassing moments in my life. As for my 21st, I would have happy memories of the meal attended by my mum and dad, sister and her boyfriend, and friends Steve and Tina, were it not for the fact that I was with my ex-girlfriend, leaving me not wishing to remember something that would otherwise have been one of the most memorable days of my life.

I should say that the first birthday I shared with my wife was a fantastic birthday. She laid on a buffet of epic proportions; proper party food like you’d have at the parties above, insisting that I spend the afternoon shut away in the spare room while she not only made the food but decorated the lounge with balloons and banners, and tried to repair an otherwise perfectly-iced cake that the cat had knocked off the kitchen table a couple of days before. But even that doesn’t compare to the last two birthdays.

My 29th was so good because Michelle and I had only a few weeks before discovered that we were expecting our first child, and that whole period now seems like such a magical, exciting time filled with hope, promise and nervous excitement. We went to a National Trust property not too far from where we live called Stowe Landscape Gardens, somewhere on our doorstep but not a place we’d previously been to. It has since become one of my favourite places on earth, a dramatic blend of the wild and natural and the man-made, and was the principal reason that Michelle and I became National Trust members (much to the amusement of some of my friends). It was a perfect setting for our deep and meaningful conversations about the changes that were about to take place in our lives. We made our own pizzas for tea, which turned out somewhat disastrous, and watched the fantastic Al Pacino movie Serpico as the evening drew to a close.

And of course upon turning 30 we were now a family unit, blessed by the addition of a beautiful baby girl in May. That alone made my 30th birthday a memorable event rather than the miserable affair I had initially expected it to be a few years back. The second factor that made the day so good was that it was the first birthday I’ve ever spent out of the country, for we were on holiday in Portugal; far away, perhaps, from jibes and sarcastic comments from my younger colleagues about becoming an old man, but more importantly just being away from drudging domesticity made for a far more enjoyable birthday than I would have had at home.

It was certainly a far cry from some friends who organised elaborate parties and celebrations – we hired a car, drove to the beach, had lunch out and had a really nice pasta dish in the evening. But having a simple, relaxing day with my immediate family was perfect for me.

However, I was determined not to underestimate the significance of the conclusion of my first three decades. I decided that it was high time that I started to challenge myself a little more or more precisely be slightly less conservative and shy in my actions; an unusual point in the year to start talking about resolutions, but appropriate nonetheless in light of my advancing years. However, in the context of what might be considered a challenge to other people, the new experiences I am actively going to seek out over the next twelve months – by way of a rule that I must do one new thing each week over the next year – may look pretty tiny. But nonetheless they are an attempt to feel more fulfilled as an individual.

I’ve tried to do this before. Eighteen months ago, at one of those dreadful off-site corporate team-building events, we all had to say what we were going to do differently over the next twelve months. Much to the amusement of my colleagues, I said I was going to take more risks in my life. I recall that one colleague laughed heartily at this and wondered whether I might be about to have some sort of mid-life crisis and start bungee jumping at the weekend and start pursuing all sorts of crazy sports. How they laughed. I’m a pretty conservative guy really, and don’t really take any risks. It is, however, ironic when you work for a fund manager.

My response was that risk is relative, and as someone who doesn’t actually take much risk to start with, these new risks could be as simple as trying something on a menu in a restaurant that you’ve always been too scared to try. Using this as a very valid example, I started that very evening by eating calamari for the first time – I know, I know, it’s hardly naked ironing on a remote mountain top, but I’ve always been apprehensive about eating calamari and it seemed like a reasonable enough place to start. Looking back I suspect that this was in fact the only thing I did that could broadly be considered as more adventurous, and my conservative life continued much as before.

That’s why the rule – of needing to achieve something new each week – is so important; setting myself a rule means I have to be disciplined. The week runs from Sunday to Sunday, I can’t miss a week and I can’t complete two in one week for example and carry one forward to the next. The result will be a list, which if I am committed enough to complete it, may form one of these blogs this time next year, under the title of ’52 Personally Significant But Actually Pretty Meaningless (To You) Achievements’.

Then again, given how hard it’s been to find one new thing to do this week – just a few weeks into this challenge – it might not.