This thing about how we stop listening to new music at some point in our 30s - specifically, once we turn 33 - always comes around on my consciousness once every few years.

I first came across it seven years ago (as it turns out) when I still ran the music blog. It was actually through an impassioned defense from someone past the 33-years-old threshold. "By the time people hit their mid 30s, hopefully they've developed a thing called taste, as well as some broader interests," Myf Warhurst wrote. "So while they aren't searching for One Direction's latest offering without Zayn, they might be searching for less popular music. Possibly new music, from lesser known artists. This doesn't make them out of touch – just more highly evolved."

I'm 33 now, and I'm starting to understand what she means. Then again, I've long sensed that my music tastes have coalesced and calcified towards particular genres, eras and feels. Like, I never listened to much hip-hop back then, and there's no chance I would have a greater appreciation for it now. I could say I still listen to radio stations that specialize in new music, but - and perhaps this is the music blog being closed for three years speaking - it's more difficult for me to pay attention, more so "discover" a new song I would start loving.

But really, I should just say that I find myself listening more to talk radio just because I feel I need the company. I spent a week listening to a newly-launched talk network in New Zealand, for heaven's sakes. But I digress.

You don't really think about the world slipping past your hands until you enter your 30s. I guess that's why my peers dread the number. 30. Not young enough to have the world as your oyster, not old enough to have seen it all. The ambiguity, I guess, makes for a last chance saloon of sorts. You can still be worth something! Just do anything! But then, you're surrounded by reminders that, wherever you are at this point, you'll probably be stuck there for the rest of your life. You see your friends have fancy job titles, perhaps that job title being several time zones away. Or, you see them talk less about the things you all used to talk about - if they even chose to talk to you to begin with, in which case, why use "friends", Niko? - and more about the broad and cuddly stuff. "From my family to yours" is your entry. It's cloyingly saccharine, and you can all do better, but then, does it even matter at this point?

Me, my reminders lie in my relatively frequent meetings at work. For the longest time I was the youngest - not necessarily the least senior, but my less advanced age means most of that falls to me - so I happily positioned myself as the guy listening in to these accomplished people share their thoughts and insights. I'd like to think I sucked them all up like a sponge, but it really depends on how much I remember and when.

Now, though, I'm dealing with kids. Not really that younger than me - maybe just a few years apart - but you just know they're doing much better than you are. Or maybe it's because I have begun making a habit of checking out people on LinkedIn after the second Zoom meeting. I mean, it isn't creepy, I'm sure; you're just getting context for future meetings. So they're younger, just by a few years, but how come it feels like they're the ones running the show and not me? And how come they get to call me "sir" and use "po" in sentences towards me?

Maybe they'll feel the way we feel when they hit their 30s. Maybe they'll stop listening to new music from the moment they turn 33. I'm not wallowing in self-pity as I write this, but I'm too tired to even try pushing at this point. You see them far ahead, or at least seemingly so. Happy, or outwardly so. With a circle of friends, or so the photos on their social media feeds suggest. (I haven't checked. I'm not that creepy. It's all rhetorical.) With enough savings to really do things once they're set free from all these restrictions. But really, I'm the only one holding myself back.