Today, I marked another year around the sun with 46 candles lighting up my birthday cake. Typically, I’d make a cheeky quip like, “The flames were so high, we might need the fire department!” But honestly, turning 46 feels heavier than I anticipated.
I know this age isn’t a milestone, as there aren’t any “Over the Hill at 46” party favors lining the shelves of stores. No one has asked, “Does it feel different?” So why have I been wrestling with my feelings about this number in recent weeks?
Perhaps it’s because, no matter how I crunch the numbers, I can no longer claim to be in my “early 40s.” I’ve officially entered “mid” territory, and by some measures, I’m edging towards the “late” side of my decade. Just four short years stand between me and the big five-oh.
When I glance in the mirror, I don’t see an elderly woman looking back. Sure, there are fine lines around my eyes—call them crow’s feet if you want, but they don’t bother me. I’ve always been active, and my body has remained relatively fit. Yet, undeniably, there are parts that jiggle much more than they used to. It’s startling how many yoga poses now require me to confront the reality of my newly acquired cottage cheese thighs.
My joints and cartilage are aging too. Some months, I visit my chiropractor so often that he should probably send me a thank-you note for his new luxury car. My back, hips, and knees seem to be dragging me toward middle age—I can feel it.
However, it’s not the physical changes of turning 46 that trouble me. Instead, I am increasingly aware of my mortality.
Let’s be frank: I’m afraid of dying. This fear seeps into my thoughts, turning even the mundane into the catastrophic. That random cough? Surely a sign of lung cancer from secondhand smoke I inhaled over the past 552 months. That throb in my temple? It’s definitely a brain tumor, not just a migraine I’ve dealt with for years. And my creaky joints? They must indicate something far worse—maybe lupus or even muscular dystrophy, according to a quick Google search.
I fully acknowledge this fear isn’t rational. Statistically, I’m likely to age gracefully into my golden years. I maintain a healthy diet, exercise regularly, and my family history shows no severe health issues. My dad is thriving at 82, and my mom, at 76, looks more like 60. Yet, the absence of hard evidence doesn’t lessen the suffocating anxiety.
Someone once told me that fear and gratitude cannot coexist. If I focus on my worries, I can’t appreciate what’s around me. But for me, it’s the opposite; my immense gratitude amplifies my fears. I cherish this life—my loving home, my wonderful husband, and our three kids. The thought of it being cut short is unbearable.
In the coming decade, my college-age son might marry, my high school junior could secure a scholarship, and my youngest, still not in kindergarten, will experience a multitude of firsts—dance recitals, crushes, heartbreaks. She will need me, and I can’t fathom missing any of these moments.
I’m unsure why my seemingly innocuous 46th birthday has stirred all these feelings. Maybe it’s the unsettling realization that I have many years left before my youngest is fully grown. Perhaps it’s the unsettling pattern of hearing about peers facing serious health issues. Or maybe it’s the wishful thinking that one day I’ll cradle adorable little grandchildren.
As I reflect on 46, I don’t feel that old. Yet, crossing this threshold has unveiled a slew of uncertainties and insights.
Turning 46 is a solemn reminder: if life takes a downturn, it shouldn’t come as a shock. It also highlights the increasing frequency of seeing friends’ untimely passings in my social media feed. Most disheartening is recognizing that many of my worries lie completely beyond my control.
Whether I like it or not, 46 is here. I hope this number becomes just a brief pause in the grand journey of a well-lived life—an opportunity for reflection and gratitude for my blessings.
As I blew out my 46 candles tonight (and managed to do it in one breath—take that, lung cancer!), I focused all my positive energy into a wish. With all the hope and courage I could muster, I wished simply for more candles in the future.
In Summary
Turning 46 has brought forth a mix of physical awareness and existential dread, revealing fears about mortality despite a generally healthy lifestyle. While the journey forward is uncertain, it’s also filled with gratitude for the life I cherish and the milestones to come.