Jack Tame: The most statistically significant day of my life

Tuesday was one of the most statistically significant days of my life. 

I’m sure I’m not the only one who spends a lot of time on the Statistics New Zealand website but just in case you have more exciting things to do with your time, you might have missed the latest population estimates. 

According to Statistics New Zealand, the median age for New Zealand men is 37.1 years old. That means half of men are older and half are younger. 

I was born on March 4, 1987. That means on Tuesday April 9th, I turned 37.11 years old, I moved from one side of the ledger to the other. This time last week, when we were last speaking, I was in the younger half of Kiwi blokes. Today, I’m in the older half. I know, I know… you might as well sign me up to a Ryman Village right now. 

The truth is I do feel older. Or at the very least, I’m conscious of having an aging body. I’ve got an arthritic hip and deteriorating eyesight. Hair grows in weird places, springing from my shoulders, nostrils, and the outsides of my upper arms. When I catch myself in the mirror as I get out of the shower, it’s as though gravity has grown a few percentage points stronger. Wibble-wobble. 

One of the flaws of the human condition is that most of us only appreciate our youth as it starts to fade. We lament being ID’d until the day we’re not ID’d. For some reason, having a dicky hip has made me really want to climb more mountains. I’ve always been big on sunblock if I was spending a long time outside, but it’s only now, as the wrinkles and sunspots gather on my face, that I’ve started to block up every day in summer, regardless of whether I’m spending much time outdoors. For the first time in my life, I proactively take anti-inflammatories before playing social sport. 

Statistics New Zealand can give you all sorts of milestone numbers. It can tell you I’m old for a first marriage. It can tell you I’m already older than most first-time Dads. It can tell you that statistically speaking, I can expect to die on the 25th of June, 2073. 

Of course, I know that’s not quite how life works. I’m at the age and stage where you really appreciate that life isn’t fair. No one is guaranteed any amount of time on this mortal Earth. Sometimes it’s the most full-of-life, the five-plus-a-day, Low BMI, not-one-cigarette-evers who for whatever reason, fate cruelly picks out. I‘ve said it to you before; aging is a privilege. 

I remember once reading somewhere that 27 typically marked the physical peak for men. I felt old when I turned 28. I remember staring down 30, looking back when I turned 35, and thinking I should have better appreciated just how youthful I was. 

I’m sure this will be the same. I’ll look back at 37.11 and laugh at my youthful naivety. Except that it doesn’t change the facts. Short of a mass exodus or a national fertility crisis, I will never again be in the younger half of New Zealand men. Once you’ve crossed the Rubicon, there ain’t no going back. 

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