When I used to hear people talk about how their 40s were their best decade, I was never convinced. But on the eve of my 40th, I understand. Unlike other birthdays I anxiously anticipated, scrutinizing all the elements that didn’t line up just so – plans that fell through, people who didn’t reach out – today I feel centered, content, and grateful. I’m settled and secure where I am and most importantly in who I am; that the little things no longer carry the weight they once did. It’s not to say they don’t still exist, but they don’t affect me the same way. I guess that’s the thing about aging – it’s not the world around you that changes, simply your outlook.
I remember a moment a few years back, when G and I were having a heated discussion, and he told me I needed to do a better job of loving myself. He’d said it so matter-of-factly, the way someone casually recommends a dish at a restaurant, that I was shocked by the lack of gravity such a suggestion held. I asked him incredulously, “Do you love yourself?” as if the mere idea was wildly unrealistic. He nodded and said he did, but that he hadn’t always. Up until then, I thought that sort of self-love was only allowed for inspirational calendars and other people – extroverts brimming with confidence, uninhibited types who didn’t overthink every decision, and those who weren’t paralyzed by the idea of failure. But there it was right in front of me, my imperfectly perfect husband, sharing that he felt worthy of this mindset that prompted me to seek out the same for myself.
In my head, I was always a few steps, a couple of months, or one big opportunity away from feeling fulfilled. And only after I crossed that one-last-thing-off-my-list would I find that elusive level of satisfaction. It wasn’t something I inherently possessed and the problem with allowing your self worth to be dictated by external factors, is that they’ll never amount to enough. The kind of self confidence I craved was like a dangling rope, forever just out of reach. It took me 40 years, but I think I’m finally on the right path.
The other morning at breakfast, in between bites of bagel, Sloan breezily shared, “I love my life.” She said it in such a nonchalant way, to nobody in particular, and yet I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. I feel the exact same, without the urge to make changes to my past or anticipate what’s to come. I relish those little moments, appreciating what I have, the life I’ve built, and I’m so excited for the next decade ahead.
