It’s upsetting that it is upsetting. 40 that is. Yet here I am, giving my self away in a blog full of incomplete sentences to try and get my point across. It started on this day, last year, when I turned 39. It was a gnawing, unsettling feeling that I figured must be hormones. I’m not the kind of gal who gets caught up in age, I mean, you are only as young as you feel, and forty is the new thirty, and age is just a number and blah, blah, blah…but the feeling was there and it grew a little more every day for the next 365 days. And here we are. Today I’m 40. To be clear, I’m thrilled to be alive and healthy. Frankly, I think it’s silly that I need to clarify that. Some things should be understood without being spoken. It’s kinda like when someone asks a pregnant woman if she would like to have a boy or a girl. She replies with “girl” and the person adds, “oh but as long as it’s healthy, right?” Well of course you ding dong. That should be understood without saying. I certainly would not rather have an unhealthy girl with perhaps a tail and a horn, over a healthy boy. Good grief. So, I’m thrilled to be alive and healthy and be 40, but 40 has freaked me out.
My friends that have already crossed the 40 line have made it look so effortless. I’ve been embarrassed about my struggle. They have given me the best advice and encouragement I could ever hope for and it has really helped. One thing they all have told me is how liberating 40 feels. You finally know who you are. You don’t worry about what others think. You speak your mind