This evening I met up with a friend who’s recently turned thirty. Talking about my thirtieth in eighteen months’ time, he asked if I had any goals that I wanted to achieve before then. I was amazed when, after some thought, I realized the answer is no. Two hours later, I’m still convinced I’ve forgotten something that I want to do, but it’s becoming clear that there isn’t. Sure, there are short-term plans that I hope will come to fruitition before then: speak some Italian when I go to Florence in May; re-learn the guitar; finish the cardigan I’m knitting. There’s no major life agenda though. There’s no burning desire of something that I must do before I enter my fourth decade. I’m more than happy for life to just carry on in roughly the same vein as it is now. And that feels like a good place to be.