My family made sure my birthday didn’t go unnoticed. On the morning of my 40th birthday, my parents called my phone at 8:29 AM, singing “Happy Birthday” to my voicemail while I attempted to grab a few more minutes of sleep. My husband had our 6-year-old and 2-year-old in the living room of our rental home in North Carolina, where we were vacationing. They came rushing in about fifteen minutes later, excitedly presenting gifts: rocks from the gem mine we had visited the day before and a lovely new gold necklace.
Later, my mom surprised me with a chocolate birthday cake from a nearby bakery, adorned with the words “Happy, Happy Birthday PUMPKIN” written in frosting, almost as if the letters themselves were amused by the silliness of it all. “I had to spell ‘pumpkin’ to the baker three times!” she exclaimed when I expressed my gratitude. She didn’t seem to find it odd to call a 40-year-old mother “Pumpkin,” and perhaps it isn’t. My 6-year-old might just get a cake with “Happy Birthday BEN-BEN!” when he turns 40, and I would happily facilitate that.
This, I suppose, is what turning 40 looks like. While I did find some connection to Judd Apatow’s film of the same name, my experience has been different from what I anticipated, and even from the 39 I knew six months ago.
Reflections on Aging
Forty is the mixed feelings of delight and skepticism when people guess my age wrong…and feeling crushed when they guess it right. It’s finally accepting that I need a skincare routine, even if that just means washing my face each night. It’s noticing those tiny wrinkles above my lip—the kind I used to associate with my grandmother—and making visits to the dermatologist a regular part of my life, rather than just an occasional trip.
Forty is walking into a baby store and realizing I hardly know anyone who would need sleep sacks or pacifier clips these days. After a decade in the “baby zone,” I’m graduating; soon, none of my children will even need diapers. That’s a mix of excitement, nostalgia, and a little bit of anxiety—especially regarding public restrooms. Mostly exciting, though.
Forty is watching the Fifty Shades of Grey trailer and feeling both disgust and a flicker of curiosity. Are they really going to show that? And wait, Sonny Crockett’s daughter is the lead? OMG. (Sidebar: imagine a middle-aged version featuring Rob Lowe and, I don’t know, Cameron Diaz? I’m not fussy about the female lead, just give me Rob Lowe.)
Forty means having a Caring Bridge account to keep up with friends battling cancer. Yes, I said “friends,” plural. It’s a grim reality that I both despise and appreciate, as it allows me to support them from afar. Cancer is a real jerk.
Forty is embracing Facebook, maybe Twitter, and even Instagram, but sorry—not interested in Snapchat. Vine feels like too much work, and Tumblr baffles me. Don’t even get me started on Kik; I don’t even know how to say that.
Forty is questioning whether I’m too old to figure out how to apply eyeliner properly. It’s realizing I’m no longer willing to tolerate nonsense from people or spend time with those I don’t enjoy. My 2-year-old daughter’s advice to “let it gooooo” has never been more relevant.
Forty is not being too old to feel a tinge of disappointment that Adam Levine just tied the knot. It’s wondering if my heart-patterned sweatpants are too juvenile to wear in public. They’re muted hearts, though. Maybe I should just avoid wearing them while I watch my third episode of Good Luck Charlie, just to play it safe.
Forty is acknowledging that kale and Brussels sprouts might be around for the long haul, and committing to consuming them—with a good dose of cheese, of course. Maybe.
Embracing Change
I’m still struggling to fully accept my body for what it is. I wish I could cheerfully declare my love for my body and all its imperfections, or marvel at how it carried my four children. But I’d be lying if I said I never critique myself for indulging too much or not exercising enough. At 40, I’m making progress in seeing myself as a work in progress. I’m learning, albeit slowly, that my weight does not define my value, despite what society tells me. It means enjoying ice cream for dinner with my kids on a summer day because life is too short to miss out on those moments.
Sadly, forty also means having a designated funeral dress that I wore this summer to say goodbye to my beloved 38-year-old sister-in-law, an incredible woman, wife, and mother to a toddler. It’s understanding that we need friends who will stand by us in our darkest times, who will remember us in ways that keep our spirits alive in the memories of those we leave behind. It’s the realization that our connections are what truly matter, and they must be prioritized.
However, at 40, I also recognize that many of us have so much life ahead of us. It’s not the “big dead end” that Sally lamented in When Harry Met Sally; it’s the start of a new chapter, and it’s a promising one. I know who I am, what I love, and I’m ready to pursue it. At 40, the world feels even more within my grasp than it did at 20, and I’m wiser about how to navigate it.
Aging as a Privilege
Aging isn’t something to dread or endure; it’s a privilege. All I care about is my time with my loved ones. I might have a few fine lines and feel a bit out of touch with pop culture, but I’m here, and that means anything is possible.
My friends say forty is fabulous, and I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t need a surprise birthday cake from Jake Ryan to feel that way. I’m content with my wonderful husband, my beautifully imperfect children, and a birthday cake that says “PUMPKIN” on it.
In summary, turning 40 is a blend of acceptance, joy, and the realization that life is still full of opportunities. Whether it’s navigating friendships, embracing aging, or simply enjoying the little moments, this milestone represents a new chapter filled with love and growth.