36 is a strange age for a woman – as Meghan will find out
As Meghan Markle celebrates her birthday, Polly Dunbar, also 36, explain’s why it’s a pivotal age
Happy birthday, Meghan Markle. The Suits actress turns 36 today and reportedly is celebrating in London with boyfriend Prince Harry. No doubt her special day will be somewhat different from my own 36th birthday, when I was not showered with expensive gifts and declarations of love by a prince (I had a good time, though). Nonetheless, five months into this strange, pivotal age for a woman, I know something of the turbulence she can expect.
Once, it was 35 that women neared with dread, convinced that our fertility would plummet off a cliff the moment the clock struck midnight. Since the debunking of that unhelpful myth, 36 has been revealed as the real turning point; the year everything seems to change so swiftly that we’re left scrabbling to make sense of it all.
Above all, as Meghan may find, 36 is when choices start to really matter. If you’re in a relationship the question of where it’s leading becomes far more important than it used to be. She’s been married before, to Trevor Engelson, a film producer, and, having been through a divorce, she may or may not want to marry again. If she does, there are more choices. Where will she and Harry live? What will be the impact on her career?
There’s also, of course, the question of children. If Meghan wants them, she’ll have to think seriously about when to start trying, to avoid leaving it too late – and how, if the subject hasn’t been raised already, to broach it with Harry. At 32, he is younger, which may be a factor in whether he’s ready.
If, like me, you’re still single and do want children, 36 is when you start trying to calculate exactly how much you want to make it happen. Enough to do it by yourself, should the right man fail to appear? At this age, the need for a Plan B – one you can live with, because you might have to – becomes extremely pressing.
While you’re pondering all these issues, ones that will affect every aspect of your existence, now and in the future, you notice that suddenly, your life seems to have diverged quite dramatically from those of your friends. This, I’d say, is one of the most difficult aspects of being 36.
In my early 30s, I went to wedding after wedding, groaning inwardly at watching yet another friend plight her troth when my relationships still ended in the scattering of tearful recriminations, not confetti. When those friends had their first babies, I bought cute little onesies from overpriced shops and cooed at the appropriate moments, but felt relieved to escape back to the tranquillity of my child-free flat.
Back then, the fact I hadn’t done these things myself didn’t make an iota of difference. I wanted to find love, as most people do, but I was also proud rather than unhappy about the full, independent life I’d built for myself
– I still am. There was plenty of time for all that, anyway. And, crucially, my friendships didn’t change much during that period. My friends remained living a Tube ride away in London and, by leaving the baby with their partner, we were still able to meet for drinks and dinner just as we always had. There were some different topics to discuss, sure, but we were all the same people, drinking Gavi in the same bars.
This year, virtually overnight, I’ve felt a shift, and irrevocably so. Some friends have now had their second children, and with them have come the inevitable moves out of London. I don’t blame them; exorbitant house prices make raising a family in the city virtually impossible for many people. But as they pack up and relocate to the Home Counties, or the home town they once couldn’t wait to escape, I know our friendship will never be the same, no matter how often I visit.
The conversation has changed, too. In the past week alone, I’ve sat through two lengthy discussions about schools, listening to friends who’d previously mocked such clichéd concerns list the pros and cons of their local primary and wondering whether sending their children private counts as a betrayal of their socialist principles.
One of the most frustrating elements of being 36 is that it’s not old, or even middle-aged. It’s still – just about – young. If you don’t have children, you feel pretty much exactly the same, physically, as you did five years ago. But when you want to do the joyful, escapist things you did then, such as attend music festivals, go on girls’ holidays and have impromptu nights dancing, it’s harder to find willing accomplices. They don’t have time, which I understand, although it makes me feel left behind.
That many people have moved on to a different stage – their pre-40s – is clear from the new ways they socialise. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve discovered my friends have met up without me, so their children can have a play date, or they can enjoy a couples’ dinner. Again, I understand why they don’t invite me; I wouldn’t want to go. But, sometimes it stings.
Meghan’s birthday is already providing even more opportunity for fevered speculation about the prospect of her marrying and having children with Harry, with the media asking if she’ll get an engagement ring as a present. These questions will continue thick and fast, and they would put enormous pressure on any relationship, let alone one with one of the world’s most eligible bachelors.
My advice to Meghan about successfully traversing the rocky path of being 36 is to try not to compare yourself to those around you; to stay true to yourself, no matter how tempting it is to be swayed by other people’s choices or opinions. And to spend time with friends whose circumstances are the same as yours, because sometimes we all need reminding that we’re all in this together.