As I find myself navigating the age of 39, I can’t help but feel the weight and significance of this year. It’s not just another tick on the calendar; it feels like a profound transition. In my youth, I celebrated milestone birthdays like 13, 16, 18, and 21. At 25, I convinced myself that I had reached the last of these significant ages—after all, it was the age where “everything counts,” and I could finally rent a car solo. Yet, here I am at 39, and this year feels monumental—perhaps even more so than the big 4-0 that looms ahead. It’s as if I’m standing at a crucial threshold, ready to step into a new chapter of my life.
This is what being 39 looks like for me…
At this age, I find myself splurging on concert tickets for artists like Justin Timberlake, whom I adore in a way that borders on embarrassing. I still recall those questionable hairstyles from the ’90s, yet I’m thrilled when he pays tribute to Bel Biv Devoe’s “Poison” during his show, even more than his newer hits like “Suit and Tie.”
Gone are the days of shopping in crowded malls; now, I complete my holiday shopping on Amazon. It’s not about being a tech-savvy shopper; I simply can’t face the chaos of parking lots and crowds anymore. I used to revel in the excitement of New Year’s Eve in Times Square and the energy of Woodstock in ’94. How did I become so busy and, dare I say, wimpy?
The reality of life hits differently at this age, especially when too many loved ones are battling cancer. It’s a source of anger and fear, making me scrutinize every little change in my body. I find myself staring in the mirror, contemplating that new wrinkle above my lip and wondering about that tiny bump on my temple.
Conversations with old friends now revolve around miracle devices for removing chin hairs and the comfiest yoga pants for school drop-offs. Who knew that would be the hot topic? My husband even joked that Taylor Swift seems like she’d be a fun daughter—how did we get here?
I catch myself keeping the car running to finish a Guns N’ Roses song on the radio—on the easy listening station, of all places—because it brings back college memories. Hall and Oates remind me of road trips to the beach in my childhood, and the tunes of Paul Simon and Billy Joel echo the nostalgia of family gatherings from my younger years.
I find myself tearing up at commercials and YouTube videos, avoiding violent movies like the plague. It’s baffling to see how teenagers dress these days, and I suddenly realize that while I once identified with Carrie from Sex and the City, I now see her and her friends as “young,” likely far removed from my world.
Hearing about friends going through separations and divorces feels surreal. In my 20s and early 30s, weddings were the norm. Now, divorce seems starkly grown-up—more so than owning a house or having kids. It’s a reminder of the unpredictability of life, as terrifying as a tornado that could strike at any moment.
Lunches with friends now include discussions about local memory care facilities and living wills for our parents right alongside preschool choices and tennis lessons for our children.
Everyone seems to be training for some kind of race, whether it’s a half marathon or an Ironman. Friends sport CrossFit tees and Zumba pants at the grocery store, which is impressive. Fitness has truly become the new mid-life crisis. Yet, here I am, still savoring a Diet Coke alongside my kale and quinoa salad—details, right?
And let’s talk about hangovers. Every drink after the first has become a gamble, leaving me to wonder if tomorrow will be a miserable experience. My eyesight isn’t what it used to be, and I’ve started considering kitchen appliances as potential gifts. I’m utterly out of the loop regarding the New Year’s Rockin’ Eve performers, yet I can still beat my kids at Just Dance (well, only that game), much to their annoyance, though I end up sore the next day.
I find myself reminiscing about stars like Winona Ryder and Natalie Merchant, hoping they’re doing well, feeling like they’re long-lost cousins. Ethan Hawke and John Cusack will always hold a special place in my heart, like the boys next door I can’t forget. And let’s not even discuss what Jake Ryan looks like today—no thanks!
As my parents slow down and some friends face the reality of losing theirs, it strikes me that we’re now the ones in charge. We’re leading our communities, businesses, and even the world. It’s a lot to digest, especially when I think about how my college friends are now running universities and corporations. It’s mind-blowing, leaving me feeling like a teenager trapped in middle-aged attire. Yet, I’m ready to embrace responsibility for my life. I’m learning to voice my beliefs, understanding that not everyone will like me, and that’s okay. Perfection is no longer the goal; I know what I want from life, even if my own expectations can be the hardest to meet.
So, I happily trade my stilettos for ballet flats and have decided that Spanx are not worth the fuss for any occasion. I realize I’m the only mom my kids will have, so I must treat myself with kindness and show them that, imperfections included, I hold value. One day, they too will grow into imperfect yet valuable 39-year-olds.
I can’t deny that the thought of turning 40 is a bit daunting. It feels like a significant milestone, but it’s a positive kind of fear—one filled with anticipation and possibility. If this is what 39 feels like, then I have much to look forward to in my 40s. Now, if I could just figure out that little issue above my upper lip…
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Summary:
At 39, life presents a unique blend of nostalgia, responsibility, and self-acceptance. As I navigate this age, I grapple with the changes in my body, relationships, and perspectives. The weight of adulthood feels heavier, but it also brings clarity and understanding. I embrace imperfection and value my role as a mother, looking forward to the possibilities that lie ahead in my 40s.