Recently, a friend of mine mentioned that a familiar face from the past—remembered for his days on MTV News—has just turned 70. I was stunned. Could it really be? A quick check on Wikipedia confirmed it: that iconic figure has officially entered the realm of septuagenarians. While I extend my warmest wishes for his birthday, it served as yet another reminder that time is not standing still for any of us.
Not long ago, I found myself in a conversation with a young coworker in their early twenties. I caught myself enthusiastically advising them, “This is the perfect time to experiment and explore! Trust me, things only become more complicated, so savor these years.” Then came a beach outing with my radiant 8-year-old daughter, who, with genuine sincerity and no malice, looked at me in my bikini and said, “Mom, you’d be so adorable if you were younger.”
It hasn’t escaped my notice that I’m increasingly being addressed as “ma’am.” And on multiple occasions, I’ve referenced pop culture from the ’80s, only to be met with blank stares from younger listeners, who have no idea what I’m talking about (“You see, Three’s Company was about a guy living with two girls… Oh, never mind.”)
In just a few months, I’ll be blowing out candles that officially mark the end of my 30s. As I approach this milestone, it feels as though 40 is racing toward me, and I’m left wondering: How did I get here? I don’t feel 40, yet my life is undeniably that of a 40-year-old. I’ve been married for ten years, have two kids, and a mortgage. I drive a practical wagon, attend PTA meetings, and wear glasses for night driving. My thoughts frequently drift to retirement savings and whether Botox is a reasonable option or just a slippery slope toward more drastic measures.
My unease with turning 40 isn’t driven by vanity or unfulfilled aspirations. In fact, if you’d asked my 20-year-old self what my life would look like at 40, I would say it’s spot on. But still, 40 feels monumental. The Big 4-0. No, thank you. I’m not ready for it.
With a kindergartner at home, our math homework often involves discussions about addition and subtraction, particularly the concepts of “adding” and “taking away.” I realized recently that, up until now, my life has been about adding things—partners, a career, children, a home, friendships. These have been my formative years, focused on building a life.
While I know the coming years won’t lack for new additions—like getting a dog (hint, hint, dear husband)—the reality is that the second half of my life will require me to face loss and subtraction. My children will continue to grow and gain independence, my beloved parents will age, and friends may drift away. Gradually, the pieces of my life that I’ve worked hard to assemble over the past four decades will start to diminish.
I’ve never been one for sentimentality and could easily give Marie Kondo a run for her money in decluttering. Yet, as I approach this milestone, I feel an urge to cling to my loved ones, to freeze time, even for just a moment. I know that’s not possible.
When seeking wisdom, I turn to the words of writers and poets. One of my favorites, Mary Oliver, offers a poignant reminder that resonates deeply: the necessity of loving what is mortal, holding it close, and knowing when it’s time to let go.
As I prepare for the next 40 years, I acknowledge that I will need to embrace letting go—and I admit, I resent that notion. But for now, I will continue to love fiercely and hold my loved ones close, adding joy to their lives as much as I can.
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In summary, turning 40 is a significant shift that brings a mix of nostalgia and anticipation. While I may struggle with the idea of loss and change, I am committed to cherishing my loved ones and embracing the journey ahead.