When 40 was OLD.

I clearly remember thinking 40 was old when I was younger.  But, like everything else, it’s an entirely different story when you are IN the story rather than just watching it.   I thought 40 would be bland.  Boring.  Beige. Blah.

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Boy was I wrong.  Like, SUPER wrong, colossally wrong.  Wrong wrong wrong.

Being the youngest does have advantages–I have seen my siblings hit these milestone birthdays and just rock it.  I watch my friends kick 40’s ass with all the marathon-running and what not that they do.  Now almost all my sibs are  in their 60s and I’m just chilling at 40 realizing…….I’m ONLY 40.  Why did I assume that life would become boring and beige? I’ve felt for the last couple years that I am changing, expanding my ideas of who I am and what I want from life. This isn’t just about me, it’s about my family–the little people that I am raising to NOT be assholes.  Has anyone seen the news lately?  There are A LOT of assholes out there, so I don’t need to be adding to that number.  In fact, I think that addition is part of what has held me back for so long.  My desire to have stuff, hold on to things, accumulate SO. MUCH. SHIT.

As I continue to work on my brain, slowly rewiring myself to look at something as a possibility, not a pitfall; to accept that shitty things happen, but awesome things happen too; to want to bring more joy into the world rather than focus on all the things that can be terrible about any given experience,  I feel a sense of peace and ease that I have never had before.  When you start thinking about your life in possibilities instead of stories, the entire game changes.  What seemed like a silly idea 6 weeks ago is now a tangible precipice that I am standing on, waiting for the right moment to jump.

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