This year, I’m feeling every bit of my 39 years. Age can be a complicated concept, but for me, 39 feels particularly significant. In my younger days, I thought the big birthdays were 13, 16, 18, and 21. I remember celebrating my 25th birthday, thinking it was the pinnacle of adulthood—finally able to rent a car! But now, 39 feels like a pivotal moment, perhaps even more than the infamous 40 that looms ahead. It’s like standing at a crossroads, leaving behind one chapter and stepping into another.
At 39, splurging on Justin Timberlake concert tickets is a must—because who doesn’t love a little nostalgia, even if you still recall his questionable hairstyle from the ’90s? And surprisingly, it’s his tribute to Bel Biv Devoe’s “Poison” that steals the show, leaving you grinning ear to ear.
Christmas shopping? Forget the malls. You’re an Amazon aficionado, not because you’re tech-savvy, but because you can’t bear the thought of battling crowds or parking lots. (I used to brave Times Square on New Year’s Eve and even rocked out at Woodstock ’94. When did I become this busy?)
And then there’s the harsh reality that many loved ones are battling cancer. It’s overwhelming and frightening. You start scrutinizing your own moles, spending extra time in front of the mirror, pondering that little bump on your temple and what’s happening above your upper lip.
Conversations with your college friends have morphed into discussions about miracle devices for chin hair removal and the softest yoga pants for school drop-offs. Yes, this is what adulthood looks like.
Your husband casually mentions that Taylor Swift seems like “the kind of daughter you’d want.” You find yourself keeping the car running just to finish that Guns N’ Roses song on the radio—on the easy listening station! Hall and Oates take you back to childhood road trips, while Paul Simon and Billy Joel serenade your most cherished memories, like parties that went long past your bedtime.
Emotional moments sneak up on you, from teary-eyed commercials to YouTube videos. You steer clear of violent films and find yourself questioning how teens at the mall can wear those outfits. You once identified with Carrie from Sex and the City, but now she seems so young—you realize she and her friends wouldn’t hang out with you.
Divorce announcements among friends hit hard, contrasting sharply with the wedding bells of your 20s and early 30s. It feels surreal—divorce seems so adult, more daunting than mortgages or minivans. It’s like a storm cloud hovering, threatening those you love.
Lunch conversations now shift from preschools and tennis lessons for your kids to discussing memory care facilities and living wills for your parents.
Everyone seems to be training for some race—whether it’s a half marathon or an Ironman. Friends flaunt their CrossFit shirts and Zumba leggings at the grocery store, proving that fitness is the new mid-life crisis. Yet here you are, possibly sipping a Diet Coke with your kale salad.
And oh, those hangovers! Every drink feels like a gamble now, with the potential of tomorrow being a total washout. You squint more, consider appliances as gifts, and realize you don’t recognize any of the bands on New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. But hey, you can totally school your kids at Just Dance, even if it leaves you sore the next day.
You find yourself pondering the fates of Winona Ryder and Natalie Merchant, hoping they’re doing alright—they feel like long-lost relatives. And your fondness for Ethan Hawke and John Cusack remains; they’re the boys next door you just can’t shake. Jake Ryan will always be the ultimate heartthrob, and no, you don’t want to see what he looks like now.
As your parents slow down and retire, you face the reality that some friends are losing theirs. It’s a seismic shift to realize your generation is now in charge—it’s us leading the way in our communities and workplaces. It’s mind-boggling to think that the friends you partied with in college are now running universities and corporations.
Yet, I still feel like a teenager trapped in mid-life attire. I’m ready to take charge of my life and voice my beliefs. I accept that not everyone will like me; that’s part of the deal, even if it stings. Perfection? I’m done chasing it. I know what I want from life, despite the pressure of others’ expectations.
So, I’m embracing ballet flats over stilettos, and I’ve come to terms with the fact that Spanx aren’t worth the trouble, no matter who’s at the party. I realize I’m the only mom my kids will ever have, so I need to take care of myself and show them that I’m valuable, imperfections and all. Someday, they’ll navigate their own flawed yet valuable journey at 39 too.
I won’t lie: 40 does give me pause, but it’s a good kind of scary, filled with potential and excitement. If this is what 39 feels like, I can’t wait to see what my 40s have in store, as long as I can figure out what’s going on above my upper lip.
Summary:
At 39, life takes on a new dimension, filled with nostalgia, responsibilities, and unexpected realities. From concert memories to profound life changes, the year marks a significant transition, balancing humor and seriousness. It’s a time of reflection, growth, and acceptance, leading to hopeful anticipation for the future.