I’m just days from 40 and mighty pleased about it. Really. Reaching 30 was pretty pleasing as well. I had a beautiful three-year-old, a fulfilling career at half-time status, and best of all, I finally had an excuse. Turning 30 gave me the excuse I’d been looking for since the age of 12, at which point I was beginning to realize that I didn’t spin in the same direction as most of the kids around me. Age 18 and 21 didn’t find me any closer to the norm, but I found plenty of others whirling with the universe in their own pattern. At 30, though, I felt free. Free to not know the names of the latest songs and their performers (never had anyway), free to continue to be puzzled by fashion trends, free to be, basically, out of it. Whew.
As 40 approaches, my rhythm no longer feels out of sync with the world but rather in sync with the beat of my heart and the song of my soul. I still can’t list popular music groups or identify TV and music stars, and my wardrobe is defintely not up-to-date, but I know myself more deeply than I did at 30. In the past decade, I’ve nursed a child to age 4, embraced the world of homeschooling, left two faiths and found one to call home. I’ve found strength in mind and body through martial arts, brought compassion and knowledge to new mothers, and reveled in the friendship of others. I’ve fought for a crumbling marriage that was not to be saved yet retained my dignity and sense of humor. Most importantly, I’ve loved, laughed and learned with two free-thinking, bright, generally kind sons, the delights of my life. I’m reaching 40 and feeling fine.