Remember the exhilaration of hitting that midpoint in the year as a child? You could finally say, “…and a half” when asked how old you were. When was the last time you felt that rush?
I crossed the milestone of 40 a couple of years ago, and you know what? I embraced it wholeheartedly. Like many others at this stage of life, I seized the opportunity to redefine myself. I took up running as a personal challenge, and while I won’t bore you with my pace, let’s just say I exceeded my own expectations. I also began therapy, diving deep into self-discovery like never before. Oh, and I even got my first tattoo.
I was eager to share my journey with others. On my birthday, I posted, “Lordy, Lordy…” on social media, soaking in the love and well-wishes that flooded my feed. I didn’t feel the dread that popular culture often associates with aging. In fact, as I glanced through photos of high school and college friends, I noticed something striking: most of us didn’t look old. Sure, not everyone was in the same boat, but the majority seemed to embody a youthful spirit. That’s when it hit me—my generation is reshaping what it means to be middle-aged. Forget the clichés of sorrow and “Over the Hill” banners; I truly believed that “Forty is the new 30.”
However, as the year progressed, I began to notice a strange phenomenon among my peers: many were quietly obscuring their true ages on social media. Specific birthdates vanished, references to graduation years disappeared. Suddenly, nostalgia-laden #tbt posts shifted from “Can you believe this was 19 years ago?” to vague references to “some unspecified time in the past.” It felt like we were navigating an invisible divide between being “youthfully vibrant” and “disconcertingly old,” and I couldn’t quite grasp why.
“We are lively, accomplished, humorous, and attractive!” I would remind myself (and sometimes say aloud) to my friends. I insisted that forty was the new thirty, trying to fend off a creeping sense of anxiety. Living in a college town didn’t help; year after year, I was left feeling older while the majority remained in a perpetual state of youth.
Why is it that at 40, we suddenly feel ashamed to own our age? As we turned 41, there were no celebrations acknowledging the milestone. Instead, vague birthday posts circulated, joking about aging backward or sharing memes that insisted “Age is just a mindset, not a number.” But let’s be real—age is indeed a number, and that number should be a source of pride, not something to be whispered like a secret.
My heart, once a tiny flutter on an ultrasound, has been beating for over four decades. In that time, I’ve navigated labor and delivery, survived tumultuous teenage years, weathered hurricanes, endured questionable hairstyle choices, and faced life’s challenges with resilience. I’ve thrived through a childhood that lacked modern safety measures, and I’ve remained upright through car accidents and the chaos of raising two children. I’ve even indulged in Pop Rocks and washed them down with soda.
I have friends who have done remarkable things—scaled mountains, authored bestsellers, triumphed over adversity, and created beautiful lives. Achieving those milestones requires not just passion and drive, but time—years, even decades of effort. The evidence is clear on their driver’s licenses, even if they choose not to display it.
I admit, I’m not immune to the pressures of societal expectations. Last year, succumbing to peer influence, I hid my birthdate on social media, fearing I’d be the only public 41-year-old left. But something felt off about erasing “1983.” Was I embarrassed to have been born that year? Not really. Would I want to rewind time? Absolutely not.
Sure, I’m not thrilled about all aspects of aging, like the need for more frequent hair dye or the emergence of deeper laugh lines. But honestly, I cherish those laugh lines—they’re a testament to a life filled with joy, mistakes, and growth over the past 42 years. So, here’s to celebrating our age, proudly displaying faded Polaroids of our questionable fashion choices as proof.
Embrace Your Age
In conclusion, let’s embrace our age with pride, recognizing the wisdom and experiences that come with it. Whether it’s through sharing our stories or simply acknowledging where we stand in life, let’s be bold in saying how old we are. It’s time to wear our age as a badge of honor.
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