It was a dark and stormy night.
I turned 40.
I will admit, this monumental milestone seemed a very far off concept for approximately 39 years and 11 1/2 months. It wasn’t until about two weeks before the big day that it suddenly dawned on me…I was going to be 40! Wait, what? Old people are 40. My brain has tried to convince me on a near daily basis that I’m still hovering around 27 or 28. But not to be dissuaded by my thinking center, the morning of my 40th, my body reminded me that I’m not.
So I began to question what “being 40” was supposed to mean. How does this number define me besides requiring me to tick a new box on some surveys (which is super rude by the way. Nothing spells aging quite like moving up toward the “nearly a corpse” box). Your twenties are about finding your voice, discovering what makes you tick and setting a course. Your thirties are about building on your confidence, embracing your personal discoveries and streamlining your goals. Then what are your forties supposed to be about?
They say “you are only as old as you feel.” “Age is a state of mind, not a number.” And my personal favorite, “40 is the new 30.”
You know what I think? Turning 40 is about surviving 14,600 days and 350,400 minutes on this Earth. Plain and simple. The rest is subjective. For some, it’s about kids growing up and out, and for others, it’s about beginning the journey. Some people are starting over and some people are building on an existing path. It’s about being alive and being grateful for it.
So here’s to the next 14,600 days and 350,400 minutes. I plan on kicking its ass.