I’m two days away from my 42nd birthday. Where has the time gone? I feel like just yesterday I was 16– at a surprise party thrown by my best friend, 22– a few months away from graduating college, 31– on the verge of buying my first home, 36– a month shy from losing my father…yet here we are. I feel like so much has changed and, at the same time, so little has changed. What an odd way to find myself today.
I really struggled when I turned 40, much more than any other milestone birthday. Or I should say, I struggled on the lead up to it. Greatly. I had anxiety and dreaded the idea of it. I survived the actual day, of course.
I don’t remember the exact timeline (my memory has gotten worse as the years rack up), but I believe I came to terms with it relatively quickly. What a relief. After all, age is just a number, right?
I guess it’s normal. I’m not sure what my hang up was. And to be honest, I can’t recall exactly what made me be okay with it. There really isn’t anything I could have done anyway.
And what’s the alternative to aging?
No, not plastic surgery.
We all get older every day, at the same rate as the people around us. Until we don’t. There’s no getting around it.
So honestly, 41 is the same as 40, and 42 will be the same as 41. Just a little more creaking (though not if I can help it). I’m striving to level up in certain areas of my life this year, so hopefully some things will be different. Of course different events will occur. Life will life.
So I’m about 300 words in and haven’t really reflected on 41 at all, have I? So how was it? It was good. I kept a list of highlights each month, though nothing monumental happened. It was okay. I checked off some goals, nothing truly life changing though. It was familiar. It was a touch sad maybe. I was the same. Often feeling stuck, by my own doing, or fearful of initiating change (both inwardly and outwardly), or judged, for where I am in life, or worse: where I’m not.
My hope for 42? Rediscovery and reinvention. I think they say every seven years is when things change, so I’m due for it. There are parts of myself that I have lost over the years. Like being an artist. I’m afraid of the blank canvas. I want to be open to making art no matter the end result. I used to spend more time with friends. I used to be good at math. I used to love swimming in the summer. I want to come back to myself.
And there are parts of me that I want to completely overhaul. I’m scared, and I will probably fight it at times, and regress at others. But I really want to put in the work, and reap the rewards this year.
I didn’t expect my thoughts on 41 to be so melancholy, but that’s what flowed out of me. It really wasn’t that bad; I just want more for myself. I want to feel good—nay, great— about where I am and where I’m going. So here’s to turning 42!
Happy birthday to me…
