The Big 4-0

A couple of weeks ago, I turned 40.  Wow.  Just writing that is exhausting.  I can’t believe I’m 40.  Middle-aged.  Half dead.

I remember as a child when my parents hit 40, being so upset because I was just sure that they’d die soon.  Both are still alive so I suppose that is a good sign.  When I turned 30, I actually relished it.  I still felt very young and yet I knew myself well; I had reached a point where I felt good about my life and the direction it was going.  As I lay in bed on the eve of my 40th though, I was suddenly jarred from my peaceful attempt at falling asleep by a horrible thought: If I live to be 80, I’m halfway done.  Holy cow!  How is that possible?!  Granted, I have had a lot of good fortune in my life.  I have had a good childhood for the most part, good friends, good jobs, good food, good music, good laughs, a great husband, and wonderful children.  But there are a lot of little things I don't remember.  The older I get, the more old memories fade to make room for new ones.  How much of my life today will fade away from my memory?

Really, I feel too clueless and immature to be a middle-aged woman.  I’m not ready to fullyaccept it and I am far from being ready to embrace it.  In fact, I’ve not been on the elliptical machine since my birthday because I don’t want to have to increase my age in all of my saved information.  I’m worried that when it calculates my burned caloriesbased on my age and weight, it might end my workouts with the current message of “Great Workout” but add “..for an old person”.  

I really don’t feel middle aged.  Yes, I have been having hot flashes for about a year now.  And yes, I do spend more time in the restroom than I ever have before (in other words, I’ve turned into a man).  But the main reminder of my age is that sometimes when I blink, the little fold of skin above my right eyelid droops a bit and I have to work harder to force my eye open.  It’s like the youthful elasticity snaps every once in a while and my skin just collapses, forcing my eye to close.  I can’t imagine how ridiculous I look when I’m speaking to people and I blink like a normal person would only to have my eye-skin droop and then have to bug my eyes out to correct it.

It’s like I go from this:

 

 To this:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 It's probably quite disconcerting for those innocent people simply trying to have a normal conversation with me.

My actual birthday was a great day.  First of all, my sweet daughters excitedly wished me a happy birthday first thing in the morning.  It’s so nice to be greeted with love from the two of them.  My hubby was sweet too.  He took care of the morning routine so I could have that time off.  I ran with a friend – a little over three miles.  We had a good pace which I thought was an accomplishment since I was now 40.  I also treated myself to a 90-minute massage that may be the best one I’ve ever had.  And then that night, we went with friends to Atlanta to catch the Mumford and Sons concert.  Mumford and Sons – they’re hip.  “The young people” like them.  Maybe I’m still reasonably cool for an old lady.

Of course something that happened the following morning threw that “reasonably cool” assessment into question.  We were in line at Starbucks (Cool) where I ordered the weakest blend possible (Not Very Cool – you have to order a skinny frappa-something-or-other to be Cool).  While I was waiting for my order, I spilled a little bit of water from my gigantic water jug that I always carry (Uncool).  I grabbed some napkins to wipe it up so no one would slip on the wet floor.  Right there I’m thinking like a responsible adult (Uncool).  Worried that those “rambunctious kids” might get hurt.  At any rate, I wiped up my spill and then I actually turned to my friend and said the following:

I’m going to get a few extra napkins to put in my purse in case we need them.

Oh.

My.

GAWD!!!

Not only did I turn 40, but in that one moment, I accepted my fate and leapt forward to the behavior of someone twice my age.  I mean, who carries a giant wad of napkins in their purse?!  Old ladies do, that’s who.  And why am I still calling it a purse?  Now that I’m 40, I guess I should just start calling it a “pocketbook” and just get it over with.  I already have a set of tweezers in my pocketbook so that I can pluck any errant whiskers that I run across.  All I need to complete the package is an adult diaper.  In fact, as a fun little game, I decided to check the current contents of my pocketbook just to see how sad this state of affairs actually is.  Here’s what we’ve got:

1. Wallet and keys (Necessities – not Cool, not Uncool.  Neutral)

2. Gum (Neutral)

3. Sunglasses (Coach aviators – cool!)
…in the sunglasses case so they don’t get scratched (Uncool)

3. Lip gloss (Neutral), lipstick (Neutral), powder (Neutral, but bordering on Uncool), tweezers (Extremely Uncool), nail file (Neutral), a comb (Unacceptable – a comb?!  Who uses a comb?  Old ladies do.), a safety pin (Uncool – it indicates I am planning ahead for a situation which would call for one), Hand sanitizer (Debatable), and a tampon (Cool!  Thank God I’m still young enough to menstruate!)
…all of these items in a zipper pouch for easy access (Uncool)
...Said pouch was purchased at Walmart (Uncool. And Shameful)

4. A travel container of ibuprofen (Neutral.  Thank heavens I finished my Goody powders before deciding to make this list.)

5. A jump drive (Cool!  It indicates I’m technologically savvy and that I can navigate “the cyberspace”)

6. Travel-sized Kleenex (Dammit.  Uncool but at least it’s not a handkerchief.  That would have been worse.)

7. Three pens – one can never be too prepared (Uncool – one shouldn’t refer to oneself as “one”.)

Well, it isn’t great, but I suppose it could have been worse.  And what am I worried about being cool for anyway?  I’ve never been particularly cool (Uncool).  It shouldn’t matter now if it never mattered before.  Maybe instead of looking through my pocketbook for my “cool” validation, I ought to refer to the most recent movie I watched.                                       

Crap!  It was Clue.

 Okay, the book I’m reading.

 Dammit!  It’s Linda Ronstadt’s memoir.

 What’s currently playing on my iPod???

 Oh, hell, it’s Carole King.

 

My most recent purchase?

 

Shitbiscuits!  It was toothpaste for sensitive teeth.

I give up.  I’m 40 and uncool and there’s nothing I can do about it.  Can’t go backwards.  Hopefully when my kids think about my age, they won’t be concerned that my death from old age is imminent.  And hopefully it isn’t.  I’d like to think that the phrase “Many happy returns” still applies to me.   And I’d like to think that I can keep my mind and my body from aging too quickly.  Gotta keep my whiskers plucked and whatnot.  And if for some reason I become incontinent or start drooling on myself in the near future, at least you know where you can find a giant wad of napkins to clean me up.