I’ve just celebrated a birthday—47.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: “47? That’s not a milestone.” But for me, it is. Let me explain.
Life is a curious, fragile, and extraordinary thing, isn’t it?
It can be as fleeting as the autumn clouds drifting across the sky, or as sudden as a waterfall crashing down a mountainside—here for a moment, and then gone.
And sometimes, when we pause to reflect on the beauty and simplicity of it all, we find something deeper. A quiet truth. A glimmer of meaning. Maybe even a little laughter at the absurdity of it all.
The Undiscovered Country—a phrase from Shakespeare’s Hamlet—traditionally refers to death, the mystery beyond this life. But I’ve always thought of it differently. To me, it’s about the future. That vast, uncharted territory we’re all walking into, moment by moment.
Maybe I see it that way because of Star Trek VI, where the phrase was used to describe a future full of uncertainty and hope. In that story, the Klingon Empire was forced to reckon with change, peace, and everything unknown. I found that version of the phrase deeply resonant—not morbid, but adventurous. Not the end, but a new beginning.
We each hold a personal perspective on life, shaped by our past, our upbringing, and our expectations. As a younger man, I saw life as something finite, with a definite endpoint. Not just in a general sense—we all know we’re going to die—but I had a number in my mind.
46.
Both my father and my maternal grandfather died at the age of 46. Different causes. Different stories. Not genetically linked, and yet the impact on me was profound. Somewhere deep inside, I started to believe that 46 might be my number too.
It affected me more than I realised. That unspoken countdown shaped the way I lived. It pushed me to take chances, to try things, to say yes. To rush through the “normal” path in life and instead fill my years with experience, as if I was racing against time. Because in a way, I believed I was.
And yet, here I am. 47.
I’ve outlived them both.
I realised that dying at 46 was my dad, Pete’s story, that was HIS STORY or HISTORY. In the same way grandad Denis had his own history, his story!
It’s a humbling, surreal experience—to outlive the man who gave me life, and the man who gave my mum hers. I never met my grandfather, but I see echoes of him in my mum… and perhaps even in myself. His blood runs through mine. His story threads into my own.
And my dad—I look like him. I sound like him. And now I’ve lived longer than he did.
When someone recently asked, “How does it feel to outlive your father?” I found myself saying:
“Like time is running out.”
“Like a blessing and a gift.”
And both are true.
We are all walking into the Undiscovered Country. Each day takes us a little further into the unknown. Some people are terrified of that, and I get it. The future can feel dark, uncertain, and overwhelming.
But what if we saw it differently?
What if, instead of fearing the unknown, we saw it as an invitation? A call to adventure. A chance to live more fully. To be bolder. To love harder. To dream wider.
To boldly go where no one has gone before.
Carpe Diem—we all know that phrase. It’s usually translated as “seize the day,” but I once heard a better interpretation: pluck the day. Like fruit from a tree. Don’t just grab it—savour it. Taste it. Let its sweetness linger.
We can’t live every moment like it’s our last—that would be exhausting. Life needs rhythm. Rest. Routine. But we can choose to draw out the richness of each day. To notice the beauty that’s already here. To appreciate the present, even if it’s imperfect.
So let’s…
- Show gratitude for the people in our lives—even the difficult ones, for they often teach us the most.
- Offer kindness and affection, especially when it’s hard.
- Lift our gaze from the ground to the horizon and remember there’s still so much ahead.
- Smile at strangers, knowing that every human connection—however small—is sacred.
Each day is a treasure. Unique. Unrepeatable. And this life—this Fool’s Pilgrimage—is a miracle.
We don’t need to have all the answers. We just need the courage to keep walking.
And wherever your steps take you—into love, into loss, into joy, into uncertainty—I hope you go with wonder in your heart, and gratitude in your soul.
One of my favourite pieces of writing is Desiderata. My dad used to quote it often.
It begins, “Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence…”
It’s a gentle invitation to live with grace, kindness, and calm.
And it ends with a reminder that still gives me chills every time I hear it:
“With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”
That’s what this new year of life is about for me. Not chasing happiness like it’s a destination, but recognising it in the here and now. In my wife’s smile. In a paddleboard at sunset. In a good workout. In shared laughter. In quiet reflection. In simply being here.
So I raise a toast to 47—not a number to fear, but one to celebrate.
A number of significance – for this is My Story, not His Story or anyone else’s history
Namaste,
And may your day—and your journey—be golden.
