Today is the last day of my 30′s.
Tomorrow I turn the big 40.
Over the fucking hill.
The last few days have certainly been a time for reflection. Thinking about things I thought I’d be doing by the time I’m 40 that I’m not. About how my life would have been different if I’d made this choice or that. About how incredibly grateful I feel to have my amazing husband and rock star kids to usher in this milestone with me.
While it’s funny to joke about how old my body is getting, I’m not really upset about it. Sure, I wish I didn’t sport these deep, cavernous “parenthesis” around my mouth and kick myself for not heeding early warnings of sunscreen and moisturizer. And yes, I am still gimping around with a bum shoulder from surgery usually reserved for 60 year-olds. But my body still feels youthful and strong.
It’s my head that gets me in trouble. As always.
To remind myself of all that great adventure I’ve had in my lifetime, I’ve been spending a lot of time looking at old photographs, from infancy all the way to present day.
Because I live for nostalgia.
It’s been fun laughing at the awkward cuteness of my nerdy adolescence, gawking at the bad hair and chubby cheeks of my late teens, or yearning for the thin shape of my early 30′s.
And sharing those gems on Facebook.
All of that joy and pain and frustration and success and heartache and love and failure and loneliness and family. It’s all a journey to get me here and beyond. The good and the bad.
While I fight to keep my ego from going to dark places lately (like my inability to get a job, the disaster that is my one-handed hair styling, feeling like my life has no purpose, blah blah blah), I also can’t help feeling that this turn of the decade might be what I need.
A rebirth, a new chance. That perhaps, dear Florence + The Machine, the dog days are indeed over.
That it’s time to stop mourning my youth and start claiming my maturity. Demanding more of my ego than just putting me down and setting me up for failure. Embracing my life because it’s the only one I have. Wrinkles and all.
So, yeah. 40?
I own you. I’m making you my bitch. Watch out, 50, I’m coming for you, too.