Turning Fifty: A Client's Quiet Gift to Himself

I turned fifty on Saturday. My kids took me to breakfast in Cottesloe and gave me a very nice watch I will be afraid to wear. My brother rang from Albany and sang badly. My ex-wife sent a warm text, which was generous of her. It was a good day.

But I'd also planned something for myself, and I've decided to write it down because I've never told anyone and probably never will.

The planning

I'd been thinking about it for months. Not a wild weekend, not a statement. Just something unhurried and kind that I'd chosen for myself, at an age when I've spent a lot of years choosing for other people.

I found an independent companion whose profile was thoughtful and funny and very clear about how she works. I read it properly, filled in her screening form honestly, paid the deposit, and booked four hours on the Sunday. I told her in my email it was my birthday, mostly because I was nervous and it gave me something to say.

The day

She'd put a single candle in a cupcake on the table. That undid me a bit. I'm not ashamed to say my eyes stung.

We had lunch first, delivered from a little Italian place in Mount Lawley. We talked for an hour about everything: my job, her studies, the best beaches north of the city, whether fifty feels different from forty-nine. (It does, and it doesn't.) She laughed at my jokes, even the bad ones, but she also told me when she thought I was talking nonsense, which was refreshing.

The rest of the afternoon was gentle and generous, and I'll keep it at that. What I remember most is how completely unrushed it was. For four hours, nobody needed anything from me. I didn't have to perform or manage anything. I could just be present.

What I learnt

I think a lot of men my age were taught that wanting care is weak and paying for it is shameful. I don't believe either of those things anymore. I paid a professional fairly for her time and skill, treated her with respect, and was treated with respect in return. That's an honest arrangement between adults.

On the drive home, the sun was going down over the ocean and I had the window down and a song from 1994 on the radio. I felt fifty, and I felt fine about it. Better than fine. I felt like someone who'd finally given himself permission to be looked after.