On the morning of my 39th birthday, two things took center stage: my hair and my breasts. Sure, there were other moments worth celebrating—like how little Max nestled his face into my hair at the crack of dawn and how he and his brother Jake conspired to surprise me with breakfast, cake, and gifts. But honestly, my hair and breasts were at the forefront of my thoughts.
This focus stemmed from a challenging week where a friend had to shave her head, and another learned she might be facing breast loss. It feels a bit odd to express gratitude in this way—like I’m somehow implying that I’m thankful for my good fortune at the expense of others’ suffering. I don’t want to seem selfish, but rather cautious and aware. Just because I escaped this round doesn’t mean I won’t face my own battles down the line. Life has a way of throwing curveballs, whether it’s illness, heartbreak, or unexpected challenges.
At 39, I still find myself baffled by many aspects of life—like why eyeliner seems to have a mind of its own or why guys often don’t follow through on their promises. My marriage skills? A work in progress. As for parenting, I feel like I’m improvising on a daily basis. I often ponder love and the mysteries of baking, and I’m at a pivotal point in my career. I expected to have a clearer understanding of life by now—more wisdom, more insight into how everything fits together.
Instead, I’ve come to realize the only certainty is life’s unpredictability. It can shift in an instant, throwing plans out the window. A routine doctor’s visit, an oddly shaped lump, or even a distracted driver can change everything. It’s unnerving, especially when the challenges affect those I care about. Yet, this shared experience also highlights our connections. Over time, we form our tribes—some near, some far. Years ago, before social media, I wouldn’t have known about my friends’ struggles or joys. Now, as I scroll through updates, I can’t unsee their pain or happiness.
I’m 39, and I still feel unprepared to handle these adulting moments. When friends need support, I often find myself at a loss for words, feeling clumsy and unsure. I want to be there, but sometimes I just sit with their news—absorbing its bitter truths and unfairness. It’s frustrating. I don’t feel grateful that it’s not me this time; I feel angry that any of it is happening at all. I still cling to the naive belief that I’m somehow immune, even though I know that’s not the case. My heart aches for those I care about while fear grips me about what could be next.
As I savored my hair and breasts that morning, I also reflected on how little we can truly ask from the universe. Just to stay whole. To be healthy. To hold onto the innocence of little ones. Beyond that, everything else feels like a bonus. So here I stand at 39, with not much more than hair and breasts, and a whole lot of uncertainty.
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