Fifty-six days until I turn forty. Can I get a woot woot?
I am not dreading this turn of events. I mean, it is inevitable, after all, right? The never ending ticking tocking sliding of the clock, thrusting us forward on our own little patch of earth. In fact, I say, bring it. Forty is the new black.
I have a friend who plans to get her first, maybe her only, tattoo when she turns forty. She's planning forty days of adventure leading up to it, trying something new every day until her fortieth. Love this idea. It banishes the black balloons and fake tombstones. It says "talk to the hand" to the adult diaper givers. It denies the denture cream. It says, "Yeah? So?"
Last year, when the eye doctor ever so gently reminded me that I was holding on to my thirties by a thread (yes, he so did), I got a little snippety. C'mon, dude. Like I don't know how old I am. And then, over the holidays, my husband said something that completely shocked me. I KNOW how old my parents are, and I am fully aware of what the forward march of time does to us as we march forward with it. But he said, "They're almost 70," referring to my parents. My mouth gaped. I about fell out of my chair.
Thinking about a number in the mid sixties is entirely different from "almost 70" because 70 is, like, a really big number. It takes a lot of years to get to 70 (about 70 if you want to put a fine point on it). If my parents are almost 70, well, hell. That means I'm, like, an adult! (Because even talking about them, it's totally about me.) If I'm an adult, well then I guess I better get some stuff sorted out.
And I am. Forget new year's resolutions. I've got daily resolutions, just like my friend who's having an adventure a day to celebrate.
I will no longer attempt to fit into other people's ideas of who I am.
I will stop whispering jokes to my husband and let him say them out loud.
I just might get me that tattoo I've always wanted.
I'm running a half marathon, so there!
I will plan a trip that is just me and my besties. On a beach.
I will stand confident and proud of what is past and square my shoulders to what's coming.
So, forty, bring it. I'm an adult, after all. I can take what you throw at me.*
*This is in no way intended as a dare, forty. Please, still feel free to be kind and to not throw too much at me. Okay? Thanks.
I turn 30 next week, and I have decided to embrace it. My best friends and I are going to New Orleans to celebrate, and I set a running goal for the year based on my new age.
ReplyDeleteLove your blog. A friend recommended you!
ReplyDeletehttp://theblessedlife-tracy.blogspot.com/
Shannon, you are going to rock your 30s. I am excited for you. Get after it, girl.
ReplyDeleteTracy, so pleased to meet you. I traipsed over to your blog and left you a note. xox
Ah yes, I remember being exactly where you are a year ago, and trying to figure out how to think and feel about that impending birthday. I just looked up the post I wrote (in which, btw, I quoted the amazing Anne Lamott)and I saw that I wrote this, which seems to be a good gift for you:
ReplyDelete"I’ve been able to throw so much of what doesn’t matter overboard, leaving more room for more meaningful stuff. I am still me—all of the things I have always been, just exposed to more wisdom, grace and beauty as the years pass."