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.
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.