I’ve lived for 57 years, but copywritten for just 25. I’m a youngster. I can’t see any age gaps big enough to fall down. I’m still learning and still admit it. But that’s fine. I’ve just realised it’s OK not to know everything.  I sit up in bed and wonder what 2060 will bring me. I can’t barely wait. I don’t yet have a career. Just a job I reinvent every day. Every brief is my first. I devour it like a werewolf and hug it till sunrise. My mentors are still legends, colleagues, students, even cleaners. Age immaterial. Immortality is my middle name, and criticism my daily bread. Rather than open my stupid mouth, I listen. Most of my friends are still looking for Mr. or Mrs. Perfect. I say “Please, may I have…?” and “Thank you for having me.” My dad critiques my haircuts, dress sense, common sense…