What 40 looks like.
I’m turning 40 in a few days. The big 4-0. The one that people stop and say, “Wow, you’re turning 40.”
But what does that mean?
You hear all kinds of shit when you hit a milestone age like 40.
Things like:
– You look good for 40.
– You don’t look like you are turning 40.
– You seem so young.
– Your boobs look better than ever. (Okay, no one has actually said that one to me but in my head I hear it over and over again.)
Am I supposed to look wiser? Because I typically wake up feeling more clueless than the day before.
Am I supposed to be more mature? Because I usually find a way to include an inappropriate fart joke into my daily life.
Am I supposed to look better than ever? Because my muffin top begs to differ.
Am I supposed to feel a new sense of confidence? I don’t need a new way, my old way seems to be working just peachy.
So what’s the big deal about turning 40?
I think people need ways to measure their lives. But I just want to live. I don’t want to put up a yard stick and track how far I’ve come with every aspect of my life. To me, that feels like the end, rather than the middle of the journey.
So please don’t tell me I look good for 40. Just tell me I look good.
And please don’t tell me I don’t look like I’m turning 40. Just tell me happy birthday.
And please don’t tell me I seem so young. I AM young. Just tell me how fun I am.
But please, oh, please, tell me that my boobs look better than ever. At 40, they are the only part of me that really does need a pep talk.
