My family certainly made sure my birthday didn’t slip by unnoticed. On the morning of my 40th birthday, my parents called at 8:29 AM, serenading my voicemail with a rendition of “Happy Birthday,” while I attempted to sneak in a few extra minutes of sleep—or perhaps denial. Meanwhile, my husband was entertaining our two little ones, ages 6 and 2, in the family room of our North Carolina rental home. They soon charged into the room, excitedly presenting me with gifts: rocks from our recent gem mine visit and a beautiful gold necklace.
Later, my mom arrived with a chocolate birthday cake ordered from a local bakery, adorned with the phrase “Happy, Happy Birthday GOOFY” scrawled across the frosting, as if the letters themselves were taken aback by their own absurdity. “I had to spell ‘goofy’ to the baker three times!” my mother chuckled when I expressed my gratitude. To her, it was perfectly normal to call a 40-year-old mother of four “Goofy,” and I suppose it is. I can only imagine my son receiving a cake with “Happy Birthday BEN-BEN!” on it when he reaches 40, if I have any say in the matter.
This, I suppose, is what turning 40 entails—an experience that differs from the one I anticipated and the one I knew just six months ago.
Turning 40 means feeling both delighted and skeptical when people doubt my age, yet feeling deflated and indignant when they don’t. It’s the realization that a skincare routine is no longer optional—even if mine consists of simply washing my face each night. It’s noticing the tiny wrinkles above my lip that I used to associate solely with my grandmother and making regular visits to the dermatologist, who has transitioned from a guest star in my life to a regular cast member.
At this age, stepping into a baby store feels like foreign territory; I no longer have friends eagerly awaiting sleep sacks or pacifier clips. After over a decade immersed in the “baby zone,” I’m nearing graduation—by this time next year, all my kids will be out of diapers. While this is thrilling, it also evokes a bittersweet feeling, especially when I think of public restrooms.
Turning 40 also means feeling a mix of disgust and curiosity when I see the trailer for Fifty Shades of Grey, pondering if they’ll actually show that stuff and realizing that Sonny Crockett’s daughter is the lead—OMG! (On a side note, can we imagine a middle-aged version starring Rob Lowe and someone like Cameron Diaz? I’m not picky about the female lead; I’m just here for Rob Lowe.)
At forty, I find myself keeping track of friends’ cancer treatments via an account on CaringBridge.org. Yes, I said “friends,” plural. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but I’m grateful for the opportunity to support them from a distance. Cancer is a cruel adversary.
I’ve embraced platforms like Facebook and Instagram, and maybe even Twitter, but Snapchat? No thanks. Vine sounds like a chore, and Tumblr leaves me scratching my head. Don’t even get me started on Kik—I can’t even pronounce it.
I often wonder if it’s too late to master the art of applying eyeliner. I’m no longer willing to tolerate nonsense from others or spend time with people who drain my energy. It becomes increasingly easier to heed my 2-year-old daughter’s advice and “let it gooooo.”
While I may feel a twinge of disappointment over Adam Levine’s recent marriage, I also ponder whether my heart-patterned sweatpants are too youthful for public outings. They’re subtle hearts, I swear! Yet, I’ll probably avoid wearing them while binge-watching Good Luck Charlie for the third time.
Turning 40 also means I’m learning to accept that kale and Brussels sprouts are probably here to stay, though I’ll only eat them if they come with a generous helping of cheese. Maybe.
I’m still struggling to love my body as it is, and while I’d like to champion self-acceptance and celebrate everything it has done for me—like carrying my four children—I still find myself critiquing my food choices and exercise habits. But at 40, I’m making progress in accepting that I’m a work in progress. I’m starting to understand that my weight doesn’t define my worth, despite what society might suggest. I still indulge in ice cream dinners with my kids during summer because, honestly, life is too short, and these moments are fleeting.
Regrettably, I had to wear a designated funeral dress this summer to bid farewell to my 38-year-old sister-in-law, an extraordinary person and mother of a toddler. I’ve come to recognize that we need friends who not only help us through tough times but also remember us with love, ensuring that our children will know us through their stories. At 40, it’s clearer than ever that our connections are what keep us alive, and they are a priority.
Yet, I’m also aware that many of us are fortunate to have plenty of time left. This isn’t the dead end that Sally lamented in When Harry Met Sally; it’s the start of a new chapter, and it’s a promising one. Now at 40, I have a clearer understanding of who I am, who I love, and I’m unafraid to pursue my passions. The world is more within my grasp now than it was at 20, and I know better how to navigate it.
Aging isn’t something to dread; it’s a privilege. What matters most is the time spent with loved ones. Sure, I might have a few wrinkles, feel too old for certain pop stars, and have to confront my own mortality and that of my loved ones. Yet, regardless of these thoughts, I still feel like a winner because I’m here, and as long as I am, anything is possible.
Friends often say that turning forty is fabulous, and I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t need a Jake Ryan surprise with a birthday cake to validate that. I’m perfectly content with my nearly 40-year-old husband, my wonderfully imperfect children, and a cake that proudly shouts “GOOFY.”
Summary
Turning 40 is a transformative milestone filled with self-reflection and acceptance. From navigating the complexities of friendships to embracing new realities, this age brings both challenges and joys. It’s a time to cherish connections, celebrate individuality, and recognize aging as a privilege. Ultimately, this journey is about embracing life and all its possibilities.