If you’re reading this, it’s likely I made it through the night and am officially in my first full day as a 50-year-old. Getting to 50 has been quite the achievement. If I’m honest, the past few years have been the most searching ones. Some of the most important things and people in my life are no longer in it. I’ve been engaged in the longest reset and revaluation of myself and what’s important to me.
I’ve questioned my place and purpose on Earth and wondered if – when -- it will get better. Luckily, those negative thoughts don’t linger. And I think I can honestly say as I turn 50, despite the total pile-up and body count in the media industry, I can see the light.
It’s been a reflective few days. Have I lived well? Largely. Have I done right by everyone? Of course not. Do I regret some things? For sure. Have I tried to be big-hearted, empathetic and help people - bloody oath and often to my own detriment.
50 sounds old to me. I’m in denial, maybe it is old, but I still think I look younger than 50. Am I deluded? Don’t answer. Mentally, I think I’m tougher than at any other time in my life. Physically, it’s fair to say I peaked some time ago and rely on muscle memory, although I walked up Mt Albert, in Auckland, two nights ago without a hitch.
The thought of turning 50 scared the daylights out of me, and given it’s unlikely I’ll make it to 100, I have likely lived well past half my life already. I thought about a party, but I think I’ll wait to celebrate full noise if I get to 100. It’s a high-risk strategy and the chances of a party aren’t high.
The first 50
Through work, rugby and family, I’ve been to 90 odd countries. I’ve thrown questions at world leaders, had a US president admire my suit, been in war zones, and seen poverty that no one should have to experience. Alternatively, I’ve seen wealth that is obscene compared to how the so-called “dirt poor” live their lives.
I’ve been separated, divorced, had four kids, bought six houses, and sold them all. I’ve brought cars, crashed cars, lost my licence, survived blood poisoning, food poisoning and alcohol poisoning. I’ve broken bones and been concussed.
I’ve presented news programmes on TV, reported for the news on TV, hosted radio shows, written for newspapers and watched my dad die in a hospice at 4am.
I’ve been banned from Parliament’s chamber and reinstated. I’ve been arrested and released. I’ve watched my kids get born and grow into impressive, smart and thoughtful characters, and I live with my mother.
I’ve worked myself to a standstill, which probably isn’t good for the blood pressure, heart or other vital organs. But my last blood pressure reading was 121/81, which is good -- except I was on a drip trying to fix cellulitis in my leg.
And what’s more, the two organisations I’ve spent 30 years working for have just announced they’re either closing for good or downsizing significantly. After the closure last year of Today FM, where I also worked, it’s been triggering and worrying. It feels as if my work is being deleted from the face of this Earth.
Our time on Earth is brief
But the real question I worry about is, “Have I been a good dad -- have I shown my kids lots of love and care, and have I been present and fun?”
Only they can answer that, I suppose. I know I’m far from perfect, but I also know I’m full of love for them and I care and I give, and will always give, them as much time as I possibly can.
We are here on the Earth’s surface for a fleeting moment, and the more I am out on the wild west coast or standing atop a small mountain or fighting a rip or crossing a bar, the more insignificant I feel. We are dots in a much larger and bigger picture, and nature can consume us and end us in an instant. The more we understand and respect that, the better off we’ll be.
I’m 50 and I ask myself, “How much longer are we here for?” I ask that only because three weeks ago, Efeso Collins stood in my studio, loud and colourful and full of fun and comment for a section in my podcast called “The Week that Was”.
I hadn’t seen him for months, and as he slipped in the door, I went to shake his hand. But we both flagged it and went for the welcoming man-hug, for some reason. I remember his big grin and I thanked him for making time for me. I took his death hard: we were both 49.
Since his death, it’s reminded me that genes and genetics are a roadmap to our future, so I asked myself some basic questions. How long did my dad live and how long did my mum’s father, my grandfather, live?
Dad was 62 when cancer nailed him; my mum’s father died at 53. I called him Phillipoppa. Phil was “Fat Phil, the fruitgrowers’ friend”. An auctioneer with Turners and Growers, he was a short, rotund, red-faced, life of the party, hugely kind and empathetic man who was friends with everyone but died of a heart attack at home after a full-on day.
Those two early deaths have given me perspective as much as a fright, and if I walk in the same shoes then I have maybe three summers left -- or 12 if things go okay. I want more than that.
What I want to achieve now
I no longer strive for big houses, boats, cars and baches (maybe I’m lying about the boat bit). Now, I am desperate to create memories and real-life adventures. I had all the other stuff; I want the stuff that really matters and the stuff the kids will remember and talk about when it’s time to pull the plug.
I’m 50 and feel ready to launch. Launch what is the bit I can’t answer. I feel freer than I have ever felt -- no mortgage, no rates, no debt, no partner or wife, no house, and really, no media industry left at all, and no obvious jobs on the horizon.
Marie Dyhrberg KC told me just before Christmas as she left my studio, “Duncan, if you’ve lost everything then no one can take anything from you or control you ever again.”
It was good timing, and I needed to hear it. The industry I’m in has a floor and a roof that are now collapsing at the same time. My supposed wealth has been halved down the middle.
But no one can stop me from making memories for and with my kids. All I want for the next 50 years – if I’m lucky enough to get anywhere near that many – is time with the ones I love, amongst nature, telling stories, catching fish, loving life. They’re the only ones who will really remember us when we are gone.
So, make it count and make it stick. I gotta go -- I’ve got the next 50 years to throw myself at.
