This morning, I read a friend's blog post about turning 40, and then I met a girl at my Bar Method studio who is about to turn 30. Each of them had the same fear, anxiety, worry, discomfort about the unknown number ahead of them. I won't lie: my 39th birthday filled me with a white-hot fear that life as I knew it would be over in 12 months. And then all I heard was this: tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock...
What do you want to do with your life? my inner voice asked me.
The answer, in response to Max's death and the fears around me and the seemingly careless cycle of life, was simple: Live.
And when I blew out my birthday candles, the only wish I had was to travel. Italy, I wished, with all my might, and then I blew those crazy candles right out.
The smoke from that wish curled high up into the air, past my kitchen ceiling and into the ether. And my wish came true, not only with a trip to Italy, but to more faraway places than I could have imagined. Deep soul-searching and relaxing sight-seeing, party-all-night sorts of places and quiet, reflective ones, too. With family, with friends, alone... It was a year of finding myself, over and over, in the present moment.
By the time August rolled around once more, I was happy to welcome a new decade. As they say, the 20s are fraught with frenzy and craziness, and then the 30s are rife with self-reflection and searching for yourself and getting all of your messiness dealt with (if you're lucky). Rounding the last few weeks, I realized that, with a few very significant exceptions, most of my very closest, dearest friends were not only past 40, but closer to 50. And they are luminous, shining women, self-aware and smiling, wise but silly, happy to suck the marrow out of life.
And I wanna be just like them when I grow up.
Hello, 40. Where've you been all my life?
I hear you re: the 30s. Mired in them right now. xo, -ae
ReplyDeleteAh, of course. A wish. That is a good thing for me to decide upon. Thank you, my wise elder!
ReplyDelete