This year I turned 40.
F.O.R.T.Y.
We had just moved into our new house 3 weeks before and our spare pennies had gone towards moving trucks, storage and we had a pile of decorating and renovating we had to do.
Oh, and it was easter weekend
The whole family was exhausted from 12 months of stress of owning a home, but not being in it. We were still surrounded by boxes, and bumping into things in the dark.
And I turned 40.
I remember my mother’s fortieth birthday, and that in itself totally freaks me out, by the way.
I remember that they had a huge banner where she worked that spanned the length of the room shouting out “Lordy, lordy look who’s 40”
I also remember they held her 40th birthday AND a mortgage burning party on the same day.
I know. . . mortgage burning… HA! I just choked on my wine.
I work from home, so there as no sign, and we had just moved into a house we had bought. . . the ink was still so wet on our mortgage that it wouldn’t have burned had we tried.
So, on the last night of being 39, I lay in bed while my hubby snored and I cried. I wept at getting older. I wept that there was no spare time, money or energy to surprise and celebrate me.
I cried at all the things I said I was going to do, but hadn’t. I held my muffin top in my hands and cursed it and I felt that the skin around my knees didn’t feel as “youthful” as it used to. I lay in bed and was angry that I was turning 40 NOW.
I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t organized enough for it yet.
And then I woke up to this.
And, surprisingly, it didn’t help.
It was front page of the Huffington Post.
It was in Bold. and red.
And I had a chicken on my shoulder.
They had done the interview the week before, and during the chat the reporter (who really was fabulous) found out I was turning 40.
And, I guess the headline worked?
But here’s the thing.
Bold? Caps? Red??
It wasn’t a gentle welcoming into 40 that I was wanting. It wasn’t a pretty scripted “This is 40” with a lilting harmony attached.
It was BIG. And it was BOLD and it was RED.
And it was 40.
While I was so proud of the story and the opportunity to share it, and I basked in the glory of the comments and the supporters, I screenshot the headline not because it was a badge of honour, but because it left a wound.
And that wound has turned into a scar.
I am now almost 40 and a half, and I have some unresolved issues about this experience. I have been staring at that screen shot for almost 6 months, and I am ready to delete it.
My 40th let me down and I demand a do-over.
I want to courageously leap into 40. I want to have tanned thighs, and windswept hair. I want to feel powerful, loved and passionate about life. I want to be wearing a good bra, and a clean shirt when I turn forty. I want to eat truffles, drink champagne and laugh so hard my head aches.
I want to feel like ALL of me. Every piece that brought me here to this day, every whisper of my personality, every defining moment of my life.
I do not, (I repeat DO NOT) want a selfie of me with a chicken on my shoulder on the front page of the Huffington Post.
I mean, the chicken wasn’t even looking at the camera…..
And I want to make something clear here. I am fine “being” 40. I finally feel confident in who I am, I feel my brain working right alongside my heart, and I love, love, love my life. I don’t gasp when I run like I did in my 30’s, I still feel comfortable in my bikini and (while my feet will hurt the next day) I can still shake it down on the dance floor.
Being 40 isn’t the problem.
But TURNING 40 sucked ass. Big time.
It was anti climactic.
But I was more than Bold. and Red. And CAPS.
And it was nobodies fault that it was what it was, and in the grand scheme of things, it isn’t a big deal. My failed 40th won’t define me.
I was surrounded by my family, and my children, and loving my life.
But,
One day, I don’t know what I will do, where, when or how it will come into being, but at some random point in my life I will stand tall on a table, surrounded by friends and family and life experience and throw my hands out wide and welcome turning 40. I will have my peace with it, and I will feel beautiful, and powerful and entirely me.
And I will NOT have a chicken on my shoulder when I do it.
5 Comments
Julie why don’t you have a 40.5 celebration. And Someone on that Island is bound to have truffles and champagne to celebrate you!
Ahhh my friend. Turning 40 comes with our great expectations. Mine was spectacular. My husband and best friend arranged a trip for all of us to go to New York for the weekend. My first time! Me, the love of my life…best friend, her husband and two more girlfriends! We partied. Went to ABBA! On the exact day, he gave me a beautiful Tiffany’s box that contained a gold chain and horseshoe that meant the world to me for so many personal reasons. We celebrated in a beautiful restaurant with cheesecake and chocolate dipped strawberries my girlfriends had bought from a vendor on the street. It was everything I could have wanted and so much more.
At 40 1/2 it all ended. I’d discovered my husband was having an affair with the very same best friend who had organized my grand celebration. The entire thing was a farce. A lie. E-mails I’ve read from that time seem to suggest how they’d wished I wasn’t there. How they’d love a weekend in New York for just the two of them. How they longed for the day they could be together.
This year I turned 46. The first half of my forties has been about redefining who I am. Putting the pieces back together on a life I’d loved…that was a lie….that fell apart. I’m still trying to breathe some days and believe me, two years ago when they went to New York and finally got that weekend they’d wanted…it ripped me apart. This May, as I turned 46…they were married.
We all have chickens on our shoulders. It’s how we push them away. How we accept change. Challenge ourselves. How we put one foot in front of the other in the face of adversity…that’s what makes us who we are…not one day…but every day. You are a fabulous woman with so much before you. Red caps, bold letters and a chicken do not define who you are…it’s the days that came before and the days that come after. It’s how you choose to live your life, who you surround yourself with, the people you love…how you act…how you hold your head up high and sleep at night…those are the things that are important.
Life is pretty freakin’ wonderful. My 40th birthday was fabulous…but it was a complete and horrid lie. I try, now, to live my life on a good path…with good people. Surrounded by those I love…the disappointments are hopefully behind me as I forge ahead to build the life I was meant to have. Your 40s are the time for self-discovery…and I hope, like me, you’re discovering someone you can be pretty proud of. Chickens and all.
Colleen, very nice sharing your story to help other people realizing their state of mind or reality status. It proofs age is only a number when we live by heart. My story is the same as yours – sadly or happily. Most of us chasing a dream and redefining deeper meaning at some point in life. I try to help now other women to find their dreams and purpose through connecting them to their power. Gratitude for what it is.
The above comment is amazing. Well said Colleen!
[…] was the year I turned 40. It didn’t rock, and being the big FOUR OH has had its challenges, so when I saw the new Netflix film “This Is […]