As I sank into my couch in my well-loved yoga pants, eager to start my backlog of recorded shows, I realized it was Saturday night. Yet, I felt no desire to be anywhere but my cozy living room, a stark contrast to how I once viewed the weekend. This epiphany marks just how far I’ve come—my twenties are a thing of the past.
If my 20-year-old self could see me now, she’d likely burst into laughter at the sight of me, a glass of wine in hand, ready to binge-watch reality TV. However, my 40-year-old self couldn’t care less about her judgment—I’ve fully embraced this decade of my life. Honestly, I remember being terrified of turning forty. I vividly recall my mother throwing a “Over The Hill” party for my dad, complete with black streamers and a cake portraying a plump old man climbing a hill. That night, I vowed to never become someone who sat at home on a Saturday night.
Throughout my twenties, I proclaimed I would never be that woman—tied down, couch-bound, or driving a minivan. How times have changed! My 20-year-old self would be shocked to find that I’ve long since stopped obsessing over the scale. I don’t miss being a size 4; being a size 8 allows me to enjoy wine and still fit comfortably in my clothes.
She’d also be astonished to discover how assertive I’ve become in my career, standing firm in my worth without a second thought. It’s a stark contrast to the timid young woman I once was. My 20-year-old self would be amazed to learn that I’ve completed seven marathons—a feat I couldn’t have imagined back in my twenties—driven by the chaos of motherhood and the need for some sanity.
She’d probably chuckle at my spacious SUV and roll her eyes at my carpooling schedule. Yet, she’d be pleased to know I still indulge in a sing-along whenever a Bon Jovi song comes on the radio; some passions never fade.
My past self would be relieved to hear that I’ve found a meaningful love after years of dating men who didn’t appreciate me. But this love is not about romantic dinners; it’s about the shared challenges of life, like cleaning up after sick kids in the middle of the night and knowing we’re in it together.
Let’s be real, though—she’d likely find humor in my underwear drawer. Lace and elaborate designs have been traded for practical basics. Who needs Victoria’s Secret when you can find happiness in comfort?
My 20-year-old self, upon hearing of my financial stability, would be relieved to know I no longer fret over rent. However, she might be disheartened to find that my idea of a splurge is now a new dishwasher. And she’d probably roll her eyes at my travels, realizing I’ve only ventured to London, with a road trip to Texas with my kids being my most cherished adventure. It may not be the Eiffel Tower, but we played Mad Libs and made memories that matter.
She would also feel a pang of sadness hearing about my father’s passing, wishing she had savored more moments with him. But she’d be thrilled to discover how certain TV shows conclude and would likely share my excitement over a Saturday night spent indulging in reality TV.
If she were honest, my 20-year-old self might admit that my 40s aren’t as dreadful as she imagined. In fact, she’d learn that confidence enhances all aspects of life, including intimacy. The fear of turning forty would dissipate, replaced by anticipation for the incredible experiences awaiting her.
While she may be busy planning nights out dancing, I’d gladly make space for her on my couch—though I suspect she’s too preoccupied living in the moment. And that’s perfectly okay, as I’ll be here when she’s ready to embrace this new chapter.
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Summary
Reflecting on life from my 20s to my 40s reveals a journey of growth and unexpected joy. My younger self would likely be surprised to see the comfort I find in my current lifestyle, the strength in my relationships, and the different meaning of success today. While she may not have envisioned this life, she would ultimately find that the years ahead are filled with promise and fulfillment.