I have not often paid attention to numbers1. They’re just that, digits. Through my life I found affinity for multiple numbers, the beautiful triple 6 being one of them.
At younger age also 16, especially when playing the beautiful game called football. After 13, obviously, but not every team would allocate that number to a player.
Yet there is one number which has always had significance in life and it isn’t 420.
The number 28. Two eight.
I don’t know what the symbolic meaning of 28 is. I’ve never truly bothered to look it up. It’s two times fourteen. Another number I like for whichever unknown reason.
Yet, twenty eight has actually an explanation in its significance to me. An explanation beyond the beautiful mathemical perfection that is 666.
The Age of 28
When I was younger, probably as young as 18 or 19 even, I’ve always said there was something beautiful about women at the age of 28. They had more often than not finished their studies, embarked on a professional career path already and also had their wildest years beyond them. Or still to come.
Then I always said finding a partner 28 years old would be my ideal setup. Despite my younger age. I was already professional active and would soon also start the nomadic life I’ve had thanks to the opportunity of being able to travel in different places. I like to think that my parents educated someone who was rather mature already for an old teenager.
Thus it wasn’t surprising that I often immediately appended that with the expression whether I would still think and feel the same about a 28 years old partner when in my fourties.
I am now at an age that it would be absolutely acceptable to have a midlife crisis. A 28 years old partner could by some be considered the compulsory midlife crisis trophy.
Obviously, I am still — or again — single. I can confirm that I never had a 28 years old partner. Even not en passant, by which I mean a partner who became 28 while we were together.
I have had two partners who were slightly older. I have had one partner who was younger.
And the rest, the rest is none of your business
I enjoy the single life, I enjoy the peace it brings with itself. Yet, not that long ago the “Quest of 28” returned to my thoughts. Totally and utterly innocently and fleetingly too. But not fleetingly enough not to make it to a post.
So, do I still feel the same about the age of 28?
Can I get back to you in another decade? I’m enjoying the peace of solitude too much to wonder and care about answering.
Of course that’s a blatant lie. I’m a
closetnerd in denial. I love numbers. Math is sexy. ↩