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?
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| Halloween 2010 |
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| NYE 2008 |
So, to look at the photos I've chosen, along with the title of this post, you'd think I was EXCITED about turning 40 next year. Well, you'd be half-correct.
I suppose I'm thrilled to have gotten to that place where, yeah, I "know better." I know better than to drink too much at a party when I have to get up with the kids and walk the dog the next morning. I know better than to make an illegal U-turn in front of my kids' school... and I accept full responsibility when I slip up and do it anyway. I know better than to buy every new season's fashion trends (although buying a couple of them do make my closet seem happier). I know I need to use sunscreen religiously -- with a hat -- or else I'll look like the crypt keeper before too long. I know that if I decide to hack off my hair into a pixie cut, it will be a slow, painful growing-out process. I know that I'm better off being on this side of my 30s (the late side) than on the other one, when I was still trying so hard to figure my shit out.
But now I'm in the throes of my 40th year. Sure, as Raf keeps reminding me, I just turned 39 in August. But I realized that, if babies are considered to be in their 1st year throughout those first 12 months of their lives outside the womb, then I'm already in my 40th year, calendar be damned. Yes, yes, I like that I'm still in my 30s, no need to rush to the "finish line" of 40, blah blah, but this 40th year thing is driving me a little nuts.
I'm trying to tease it out. Why are you menacing me? I'll ask this shadow of 40, as it pops up and sits next to me while I'm having a quiet cup of coffee. I have months to go before I have to let you into my house.
I want you to take stock, 40 says, whispering in my ear. What do you want to do? Then 40 does an impression of the caterpillar from "Alice in Wonderland," puffing on a pipe and asking, Who ARE you?
I am me. That's all. I'm a different me than I was at 20 -- hence the creams and vitamin C serum and crazy ballet-style class and cleaner diet -- but I don't think I'd go back to 20 unless I could bring my 39-year-old's point-of-view with me. And there's the rub, right?
So I guess it's on, 40. Bring it. You have 10 months to prepare, and so do I. I'll be ready. Will you?
