Not that I thought I could escape it.
Not that I wanted to. Being alive is one of my favorite things. Getting older is part of it.
I was fully prepared to be kind of sad about it all, though, namely for the same reasons most people start to do the whole mid-life-crisis thing long about this time.
I wasn't bummed about getting older. I'm excited to be 40 because the power of not giving a damn is a real thing. And the older I get, the realer it gets. Also, I truly believe that age is a state of mind. In these important ways, 40 is a very good thing.
But I was prepared to be sad about all the things I'm not--to dwell on what I'd thought I should be or have accomplished by now. Forty years seems like enough time to accomplish quite a bit (spoiler alert: I haven't).
Waking up at 4:21 this morning, into the semi-darkened room and in the generally fucked-up state of mind that insomnia seems to breed, it was looking to be headed in that direction. I started to inventory. And a lot of it wasn't good. But a lot of it could also be worse.
This is a sampling of what went through my mind, not just in the early morning hours of today, but in the week or so leading up to this big, high-pressure birthday:
* I should have had a party, because 40 is a big deal and if you don't have a party you must be sad about turning 40. You should be celebrating! But also: as open and sometimes-extroverted and happy to have an individual's attention as I am, the thought of a party of that magnitude isn't making me feel happy. That's too much attention all at once. That's too much pressure to be awesome. (The quiet weekend away with my husband was a good call.)
* I have wasted waaaaaaaaaaaaay too many hours on social media in the past few years and have absolutely nothing to show for it. I have to rethink this thing. How to find balance without throwing the baby out with the bathwater? (I mean nobody likes a social media teetotaler.)
* I'd hoped to be in the best shape of my life when I turned 40. I'm not. Or maybe I am, but if I am, that's not saying a lot. I can do better. But I also don't want to get obsessed with working out at the expense of SO MANY OTHER THINGS I ALREADY FEEL THERE ISN'T TIME FOR. (Let's just keep this as is for now, and maybe try to cool it on the carbs a bit. Maybe.)
* I could be a better parent. This is trite and boring and every parent thinks it and it's true for every parent, but so is this: We could all be better everythings. I say that with one caveat, though...one tangible way I can *actually* be a better parent is by spending less time on social media (see above), and on my phone in general. (Ok, we're getting somewhere here.)
* I need to be challenged more at work. Or fulfilled more. Or something. The big deals that used to feel like accomplishments don't do it for me anymore. I find more satisfaction in the often financially neutral human interactions at work that ooze with intrinsic value. But uncovering moments that ooze with intrinsic value is not my job duty. (I could probably be in a more suitable line of work.)
* I don't own a home. Owning a home in the Bay Area, where a 2-bedroom will run you at least a half a million dollars, seems both impossible and slightly insane. Still, sometimes I feel like I want one, or that I should have one. Renting can feel like failure. (It's hard not to fantasize about winning the lottery.)
* People used to say I looked younger than I was. People don't say that anymore. I'm aware of the fact that I'm actually aging, in real life. (I try not to have sad feelings about this, but sometimes I do.)
* It's ridiculous and stupid that I haven't made time for reading, let alone writing, in recent years (apart from reading articles online). I'm rusty as hell and almost too ashamed to post this. This is therapeutic, though. (Damn, does reaching for the therapeutic imply I could use therapy? Yes, I could! Haha.)
* I follow at least half a dozen yogis on Instagram and haven't done 10 minutes of yoga in over a year. I know I'm drawn to it. Why am I resisting?! (This is separate from my earlier discussion on fitness. This is about whole body wellness. Why wouldn't I want that?!)
* I have some really pretty rad people in my life. (Because of the pretty rad people in my life--and after catching a little nap after taking my son to school--I couldn't even pretend that I have anything in my life to be sad about. That would be the most luxuriously navel-gazing, first-world problem BULLshit ever, if I were to go there, or stay there anyway. I've already indulged this line of thinking long enough. Today, I felt the love.)
So, dear friends. Around mid-morning, after the above-mentioned nap and in the extremely satisfying space between an un-rushed shower and the Things I Needed to do Today, I came to these for-now conclusions:
1) Forty feels like 39 (39 felt like 28, so...)
2) Forty looks like it looks. Acceptance (along with what help we can garner and what improvements we *are* capable of) is our friend.
Here I am, at the end of this long day, resisting the urge to put on glam makeup (as if I knew how) to try and look more "Fab at 40" than I actually am. The black and white filter does help, though.
And so if this is what 40 is like, less-than-satisfied in so many ways (which is exactly the state of being that causes us to strive for more, no?), doubtful and frustrated and sometimes proud and always (please please forgive me for this) #blessed, I suppose I'll take it.
More than that. I'm very happy to be here.
