As I approached my 40th birthday, I realized I had been living in the shadows of this milestone far earlier than I expected. The moment I turned 36, 40 became this distant yet looming presence, much like a vehicle in a dream that you know is going to collide with you. During those years leading up to the big four-oh, I had a strange calmness, almost as if my subconscious was guiding me to accept my fate.
I once had a colleague, let’s call her Sarah, who boldly claimed her 40th year as her license to do whatever she pleased: “I’m having a mimosa before noon—I’m 40, after all!” she would declare. “I told my boss where to shove it—I’m 40!” And even, “I can wear pajamas to work! I’m 40!” I admired her unapologetic embrace of this age, while I, still clinging to my thirties, viewed it as a gateway to a more serious existence.
The thought of turning 40 filled me with a unique kind of anxiety that I never felt about hitting 30. In your twenties, you often hear how youthful you are, and you long for the day when people will start to take you seriously. But 40 is a definitive marker of adulthood. It’s closer to 50 than it is to 20, and at this age, society expects you to have it all figured out. As a single person without kids, I often joked about my plans to have my first marriage behind me by 40. My friends laughed, but there was a hint of pity in their eyes as they drove off in their sensible cars, whispering about my seemingly tragic future of solitude.
I clung to the age of 39 as if it were a life preserver. I rewatched the series thirtysomething, reminiscing about how ancient the characters felt when I was 13. I found myself thinking, “You are older than that person, and that person too,” with each episode. I even tried on the label “middle-aged” but it didn’t fit; I still felt like I was in my thirties, or even younger at times.
When the big day finally arrived, I celebrated with my closest friends, many of whom had crossed the threshold into 40 before me. Yet, I felt a bit like I had been hit by that metaphorical car. Not in a devastating way, but enough to leave me questioning what I had accomplished. Why hadn’t I done anything noteworthy? Why was I still squeezing into jeans that had long lost their fit? Why didn’t I own my own home?
However, over time, and I admit this sounds almost too neat, that infamous “I don’t give a damn” attitude that people talk about when they reach 40 really did start to emerge. Why was I still worried about others’ opinions of me? I’m 40; not everyone is going to resonate with me! Why did I continue to soften my voice to avoid coming across as too assertive? I can now speak in my authentic voice, whether I’m dealing with a customer service rep or anyone else. Why was I spending precious time with people who didn’t ignite joy in my life? At 40, I realized I should focus on surrounding myself with those who bring laughter and positivity.
I’m 40, and while I’m not old yet, I understand that one day I will be. I have plenty of living left to do before then. As poet Joseph Brodsky wrote, “Now I am forty. What should I say about my life? That it’s long and abhors transparence…Yet until brown clay has been rammed down my larynx, only gratitude will be gushing from it.”
This is the essence of turning 40—gratitude. For the experiences I’ve had and for those yet to come. So here’s to 40! Thank you.
For those navigating similar life transitions or looking for insights, check out this post on Modern Family Blog. And if you’re considering family planning options, Make A Mom offers high-quality at-home insemination kits to assist you. Additionally, the ACOG provides excellent resources for understanding fertility and home insemination.
In summary, turning 40 can be a powerful and liberating experience, filled with opportunities for growth and self-acceptance. Embrace the change and look forward to what lies ahead.
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