On Turning Forty

It's been awhile since I have visited this space. I keep dipping my toe in the bloggy waters and then running in the other direction. The thing is, I don't have a lot to say. And when I blather on about the banal details of my life, it feels a little self-serving. A little trivial. Do you ever feel that way? Also, in case you haven't noticed, there is a lot of negativity out here in the virtual world of pretend. I'm already a glass half-empty kind of girl so, really, I have to limit the negative vibes in my life or else, well, I don't know what else but it would be bad, I would imagine.

So why I am here?

I have no good answer other than I'm a pretty good typist.

Did I tell you I turned 40 recently? I turned 40 recently. Actually, my husband and I both turned 40 within six weeks of each other. Since we are both youngest children and need external validation and copious amounts of attention, we threw ourselves a big party. It was just like our wedding reception, expect I didn't wear my mother's wedding dress or eat a $500 piece of cake. Otherwise, it was exactly the same. It was (truly!) the highlight of the summer, and the weekend with friends and family made us feel all happy fuzzy inside for days afterward.

Not long after the glow wore off, the reality of 40 set it. FORTY. See, everyone says that once you enter the fifth decade of life you have a renewed sense of self. You know who are are. You know your place in the world and you feel pretty effing confident about it. At least, that's what they say. 'They' being my mother. Who is 73.

Anyway.

I'm almost two months into my fifth decade and I'm still waiting for my new and improved sense of self to formally announce itself. So far, it's been a no show. Nada. Nothing.

I have learned a few things, though, which I will share.

1. I can't drink a bottle of wine and chase it with a chocolate martini anymore.

2. My right knee hurts when I descend a rock face (which is not often, but still worth mentioning).

3. Skinny jeans are not for me.

4. I am beginning to think I will never find a yoga teacher who uses a Bruce Springsteen play list. On the beach. In Costa Rica.

5. Expensive wrinkle cream is a hoax.

That's it, folks. Other than the wrinkle cream thing, no meaningful epiphanies have surfaced. No surges of confidence or wisdom have washed over me. I have not even glimpsed an image of the baby Jesus in my grilled cheese sandwich.

I guess these things take time. Afterall, I have a whole decade before me to complete my metamorphisis into the grownup world of middle age.



Anybody have any words of wisdom to pass along about their 40s? Good? Bad? Arthritic? It's the new 20, right?