No matter what boxes you tick for Tuesday’s census, I’m fairly confident of one thing we all have in common.

We can be differentiated in the Census by where we live, our gender identity, ethnicity, marital status, and work. But every last one of us, from new-born babies right through to centenarians and even Harry Styles... every one of us is aging.

Today is March 04, 2023. Thirty-six years since I was born at Christchurch Women’s Hospital, I will be spending my birthday, birth hour and birth minute with you.

There’s no need to text or email. I’m neither a birthday grinch nor someone who feels they need to be showered in gifts and bland Facebook posts, although the sentimentalist in me does find himself dwelling on the date.

What’s special about March 4th? Nothing really. Except the date I’m supposed on be gorging on cake just happens to coincide with World Obesity Day. A coincidence, probably, although given my ridiculous sweet tooth I can’t help but wonder if some higher power isn’t having a bit of fun.

And what’s special about thirty-six?

You might say it’s just a number. But this year, I will be twice as old as I was at eighteen. I will have been legally able to vote and purchase booze for more than half of my life. I’m closer to forty than thirty. Closer to fifty than twenty.

At thirty-six, barring any catastrophic event or a brain-drain unlike we’ve ever experienced, this is the last year in which I can say I’m in the younger half of New Zealand men.

The median age in New Zealand – the age by which half the population is younger, and half is older – is 38.2 years. But for men, the median age is two years younger than that of women. 37. That means by May next year, I will be older than half of Kiwi blokes.

I notice my body aging. You might scoff, but I notice the wrinkles just starting to set in my face, the hair on the back of my shoulders. I notice how I wake up sore sometimes and how I favour one knee just a little more than the other. I notice myself taking a keener interest in my grandparents’ and parents’ medical histories. I notice my opinions slowly changing. I notice myself feeling increasingly different in some ways to teenagers and people in their twenties.

When I was born, my Dad was considered a relatively old first-time father. He was a year younger than I am today. I don’t have kids, although I’d like them. I’ve never married, although I’m more than twice the age of my grandma when she tied the knot.

I remember on my thirtieth birthday, I felt a bit like my youth was over. I wasn’t all mopey and upset about it, I just felt like I had to enter a more settled stage of life. I look back now, of course, and I can see how silly that is.

‘Thirty?! You’re a child!’ I imagine telling my old (well, young) self.

‘Just wait until you’re older than the median age!’

I know in five years’ time I’ll look back at me today and feel exactly the same.

I think age is giving me a little more wisdom. One of the things I’ve come to observe is how some friendships in life ebb and flow and come and go.

You can have really strong friendships, really intense, meaningful relationships, and over time, you might still slowly drift apart from people. It just happens. Knowing and accepting that old friends and old connections are still important to you and that your shared history doesn’t disappear is a valuable thing. And the other side to the coin is that any day your path might cross with someone completely randomly, and you’ll forge a new, meaningful friendship. That potential is one of life’s wonders.

I have so much to be grateful for. An awesome family. A loving girlfriend. My mates. My health. My job. But for me, thirty-six is a time when I notice myself no longer taking aging for granted. I’ve lost more friends and family in the last few years, than in all of the first thirty-three or thirty-four years of my life.

That’s the thing about growing older. The great wisdom of aging comes in realising that ultimately it’s a privilege.