I was just reading over last year's birthday post... and, wow! I really sucked at turning 40!
What is it about that milestone that does so much damage to a woman's psyche?
As I ring in 41 this week, let's look back at the kind:cruel ratio that was my Year of Forty.
- The Quickest Mid-Life Crisis in History: I whined, complained and threw cyber-tantrums as I crested the middle-aged slope and fell directly off its cliff. It was a quick freefall and then I was like, "Oh, sorry about that world!" and went back about my regularly-scheduled business. I like to think that what it lacked in longevity it made up for explosiveness. Was it fair to the world? No. But the world survived it, so I'm over it too.
- Finally Found a Home: The last thing on my "40" bucket list was to purchase real estate and be living in said real estate by the end of the year. Due to my stubbornness over price and location, it took me an entire year of house-hunting to achieve this final tick mark. (Not to mention, four different mailing addresses in the same amount of time. Believe me when I say that my year of homelessness is still confusing the local post office!) So, does signing the deed at the age of 40.8 still make the cut? It counts in my book! And, being stubborn paid off. I'm in exactly the location I had my heart set on and actually came in under budget, too!
- My Boobs are Playing Tricks on Me: It seems like much more than a year ago that I had my first breast cancer scare, but it was just last summer. Tacky as it may have seemed to some when I decided to share that journey; the conversations it started among friends and family really proved to be worth the embarrassing exchange. (Click link for a recap. To those who missed the follow-up, it was just a cyst in the end!) It seems most women at this age have had their "scares" and for someone who once favored male friendships over female, it really proved to me the necessity of the female-sisterhood. (Love you, ladies!) In other boob news, is there a once-a-decade law of physics that is keeping the bra industry in business?! It happened at thirty when the elasticity of the dermis began to betray me. New bra size! Must go shopping! And, here it is again at forty. Holy tit! As if gravity weren't enough of a foe, they've now decided to go running off in opposite directions! It's like each side is in a race to see who can reach my back first by the age of fifty!* And, of course, hello! New bra size again! This is getting old business is expensive business.
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| Somehow, this is the only Before/After depiction I could find on my laptop! |
- Lost Weight: I have always been cursed in the weight department. (By "American fashion" standards, at least.) I was a tall gangly child, who got called "String Bean", "Carpenter's Dream"** and the like, more often than necessary. (It's really not necessary to comment on children's body types. Ever. Or, anyone's, for that matter. Will the world never learn?!) Once puberty hit, I was hippy and bootylicious during the entire Kate Moss waif trend. Then, totally missing the boat on both ends, my body chose to revert back to waify twelve-year old proportions in middle-age, just in time to usher in the decade of the butt. I literally cried*** when that Meghan Trainor song was released because it was so catchy that I wanted to sing along, but in order to do so I had to call out "Skinny bitches"**** and lyrically agree that "Boys like a little more booty to hold at night.♫" Which leads me to publicly present a challenge to today's pop stars. It's great to celebrate all body types! But, please realize that you can celebrate yours without shaming others in return. Hear that, Meghan? Nicki? Other girls whose names I forgot because I'm not entirely up to date on pop music?
- Lost My Filter: My filter has slowly been slipping away from me since my twenties. The decline has only increased in rapidity at 40. I probably cuss more than I should. I definitely give more unsolicited advice than I should. I fast-tracked from age 39 to 80 in my comfort level of thinking I'm old enough to not have to censor myself. Which is not necessarily a good thing, I do realize. On the upside, it's caused me take better care of my self-worth. If somebody wrongs me, I suddenly have no problem calling them out on it. Which is something I could have never dreamed of doing half-a-lifetime ago. Has it made me popular? Of course not! But, it's sharpened my true friendships and pinched off the ones that were sapping my reserves. Forty had no time for drama. And, forty-one's schedule is looking pretty booked as well.
- Lost My Grandma: Forty was a terrible year of loss for my family. Both sides lost their last matriarchs. Not just that, but personally my biggest cheerleaders as well. Through all the sadness, I had the privilege of sitting with my Grandma in hospice during her last weeks on this earth. I received from her the best compliments of my entire lifetime and advice that I will cherish forever and ever. Though, it was exhausting, I still miss her every day and have never fully finished grieving over that loss. As my birthday draws near, I will miss that yearly card from her where she would underline in ink pen every word in the lame Hallmark poem that reminded her of me. And, I will forever regret every year that I was too lazy to call and thank her for thinking of me.
- Lost My Way: This year, I decided to be good. Again. Like, daily. Constantly renewing that pledge. Every morning, asking God for a clean slate and yet another do-over. I'm learning to not only speak more kindly, act more kindly and (most importantly) react more kindly. (Powder Keg Mecham, at your service!) I'm really focusing on thinking more kindly, so there are no judgmental or unfriendly comments rooted anywhere to have any chance of slipping out. This used to come so naturally for me, which means my heart must have slipped into an ungrateful place somewhere along the way. I have decades-old walls I'm breaking down. Bear with me! They were there for good reason, but I've grown too old and tired to keep holding them up. I've heard unkind things about myself this year. I don't want to produce that same kind of hurt in others. If I love you, I'll show it. If I give you a compliment, I really mean it. There's no sugar-coating. I'm too lazy to waste my breath like that.
- Gave in to the Stereotype and Became a Fur Mama: Forty and single equals cat mama... Der! I absolutely adore this girl. And, she seems to tolerate me in exchange. (Although, she's currently glaring at me for having the light on this late at night and impeding upon her 22nd hour of sleep for the day.) Is it cheesy to say she completes me? No, just creepy? Well, thanks for keepin' it real.
So, last year's post... What did I know? I was just a young 39.99 year-old when I wrote it. Little did I know 40 was bringing with it the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. If this trend keeps up, 41 may possibly leave me with whiplash!*****
But, seeing that I won't see another milestone for nine years is quite a relief. What's on my "50" bucket list, you ask? Let's just start with "Not Dying" and take it from there.******
No pressure this decade.
No pressure this decade.
*Okay, maybe slight exaggeration on my part. They're still pretty cute for their age. Supported or not. And, healthy, most importantly!
**ie. Flat as a board.
***Disclaimer: Hormone surges may also be partly at fault for tears.
****Don't argue that the following, "...Just playin' , I know you think you're fat.♫" lyric makes up for this. No, we don't think we're fat. We're now just doubting our desirability thanks to your insensitive lyrics. Big or small, booties are soft to the touch... and that's what really matters. Trust me, I'm older and wiser. There's no need to cut others down to build yourself up. Lecture over!
*****Whiplash. Best movie of my fortieth year. Go see it!
******And, less footnotes. :)
*****Whiplash. Best movie of my fortieth year. Go see it!
******And, less footnotes. :)
