So. It happened. My birthday. That number that most women (and some men) dread. Forty.
It was an uneventful birthday…which is fine by me. Lots of freedom and time spent doing what I love. A few nice calls. messages and texts. Low key.
The next weekend, I am up at the crack of dawn, readying my things to meet a friend to go hawking. I was actually all packed up and ready to leave, but then decided to iron a quilt topper at the last minute…my friend’s neighbor has a quilting machine, so I was trying to kill two birds with one stone on this trip.
As I furiously ironed in the early morning light, cursing my poor stitch work, my sewing abilities and my lack of ironing skills, my husband wandered into the kitchen for his first cup of coffee. He has a knack for saying poignant things, first thing in the am. As my half-awake pea brain is overloaded with concentrating on not burning myself while simultaneously beating myself up for not being a better seamstress, my husband utters these words:
“Hey - Kudos to you for kicking forty’s ass. Look at you – Forty and you didn’t miss a beat.”
In the wee dawn hours, the words practically fall on deaf ears. I was late leaving and busy self-loathing over my quilt. But, later in the day, the words seeped into my brain, marinated and this came forth:
Yes, I turned forty. Yes, I am not longer in my thirties. My twenties are but a memory. Yes, I am getting older. But, with age, I have never been happier.
I have a great job. Great friends and family. An exceptional husband.
I am able bodied and still have a little pep in my step. I still feel like a little kid when puppies, candy or adventure is involved.
I still wake up every morning and realize I have so much more left to learn…and I look forward to it.
I have several hobbies I am passionate about…several rabbit holes I’ve yet to slip down.
If you offered me the chance to go back to 25, I would resoundingly refuse.
I like my life…a lot. I know it’s not for everyone, but it suits me to a tee. I like who I’ve become. I like the wisdom I’ve acquired and the ability I have developed to learn from everyone and everything I encounter. I like the melting pot of vigor, sarcasm, open-heartedness, and skepticism that is me. I like my tenacity and my laziness. I like my logic ruled by a wild heart. I like where all this is going.
Why should I mourn turning 40? The best is obviously yet to come…
It was an uneventful birthday…which is fine by me. Lots of freedom and time spent doing what I love. A few nice calls. messages and texts. Low key.
The next weekend, I am up at the crack of dawn, readying my things to meet a friend to go hawking. I was actually all packed up and ready to leave, but then decided to iron a quilt topper at the last minute…my friend’s neighbor has a quilting machine, so I was trying to kill two birds with one stone on this trip.
As I furiously ironed in the early morning light, cursing my poor stitch work, my sewing abilities and my lack of ironing skills, my husband wandered into the kitchen for his first cup of coffee. He has a knack for saying poignant things, first thing in the am. As my half-awake pea brain is overloaded with concentrating on not burning myself while simultaneously beating myself up for not being a better seamstress, my husband utters these words:
“Hey - Kudos to you for kicking forty’s ass. Look at you – Forty and you didn’t miss a beat.”
In the wee dawn hours, the words practically fall on deaf ears. I was late leaving and busy self-loathing over my quilt. But, later in the day, the words seeped into my brain, marinated and this came forth:
Yes, I turned forty. Yes, I am not longer in my thirties. My twenties are but a memory. Yes, I am getting older. But, with age, I have never been happier.
I have a great job. Great friends and family. An exceptional husband.
I am able bodied and still have a little pep in my step. I still feel like a little kid when puppies, candy or adventure is involved.
I still wake up every morning and realize I have so much more left to learn…and I look forward to it.
I have several hobbies I am passionate about…several rabbit holes I’ve yet to slip down.
If you offered me the chance to go back to 25, I would resoundingly refuse.
I like my life…a lot. I know it’s not for everyone, but it suits me to a tee. I like who I’ve become. I like the wisdom I’ve acquired and the ability I have developed to learn from everyone and everything I encounter. I like the melting pot of vigor, sarcasm, open-heartedness, and skepticism that is me. I like my tenacity and my laziness. I like my logic ruled by a wild heart. I like where all this is going.
Why should I mourn turning 40? The best is obviously yet to come…