Physically speaking, I’m no longer in my prime years. I wake up with more aches and pains than I did in my twenties. My joints regularly file complaints. I still make health a priority, but there is no escaping its decline. 

But here’s what’s not declining: my prime happiness years.  

I might not be able to run as far as I used to, but I get to wake to the sound of my children charging down the hallway. I get to tuck them into bed and read them stories each night before fielding a million questions about life.  

And I get to share things from my childhood with them, like watching Gladiators at the weekend and then transforming our living room into an arena, with sofa cushions becoming podiums.  

In this respect, my prime years are just beginning. The end isn’t in sight and won’t be for years to come.  

What a comforting space to be in. It’s one I wouldn’t trade for my twenties. 

Of course, one day my children will grow up, leave home and forge their own lives and identities. I’m sure that will be difficult for my wife and me to come to terms with.  

When it happens, and it will, the job won’t be to focus on what’s behind us, but on what’s in front. What are our options? What choices are available to us? How do we redefine our identities? Who are we when the house is quiet? How do we determine what our new ‘prime years’ look like?  

That day is a long way off, but I’m conscious of it today for two reasons. First, it helps anchor me in the present and makes me value what I have today.  

Second, it’s my job to lead by example. My children won’t learn resilience from speeches, but they might by observing how my wife and I handle transitions.