40 is fabulous. Say what?
Some would say 40 is fine.
Some say 40 is freaking ridiculous.
Some would say 40 is old.
Some say 40 is effing awful,
But I simply say 40 is…
40 is for distinguished, put-together people with buttoned blazers, classy, gold watches, or shiny high heels. 40 is for the Leonardo DeCaprios and not for Bolton Carleys.
I still insert my foot in my mouth. I still trip going into a room. I still believe a hoody and a stocking cap make me look cool. I still get zits. I still don’t sink myself in a bottle of wine, and I’d still rather watch sports than the Real Housewives of Orange County.
And I struggle way too much with technology…
What does that tell us? I think it tells us that I continue to be in denial about aging. Lol. And here’s the thing: you all know that I am a reflective ager. As another decade sneaks up on me, I’m trying to disregard the weight gain and deafness and focus on my theory that my life gets better with each passing decade. My thirties were good to me – they brought me a house, a blog, a photography business, and, most importantly, my husband.
That statement seems so simple and so blasé. Yet, nothing matters more. Whether my 40’s bring me eye-glasses, back pain, elastic-waisted pants, or a failed writing career, I have chosen the right people to laugh with at my side.
As I always say, blessed are those that know it…
Got some thoughts on aging? I’ll take any and all advice. Or been there, done that? Feel free to prep me or commiserate. I’m listening.