Today I turn 39, and it’s a bewildering experience. This age feels nothing like what I anticipated. I find myself grappling with skills I thought I would have mastered by now, while still engaging in activities I presumed I’d have outgrown.
As I approach this milestone, many people around me treat my 39th birthday as just another stepping stone, a mere blip in the marathon leading to the big 4-0. Conversations often drift toward what lies ahead. “This is the year you stop counting,” my father remarks. “It’s all downhill from here,” a friend quips, chuckling. “Just wait,” my partner assures me.
It seems 39 serves as a pause, a pivotal moment to reflect on what this decade could encompass. Our lives are marked by fragments—milestones, years, relationships. We often reminisce, saying things like “when I was in my twenties,” as if that period neatly encapsulates who we were. What will I say about my 30s?
Contradictions of Age
At 39, I’m confronted by a mix of contradictions. I can still do a cartwheel in the front yard, leaping into a pile of leaves with my neighbors watching. I can outrun my nine-year-old son in a race to the mailbox, even though I know I should let him win—I just can’t bring myself to do it yet.
Yet, mornings bring stiffness in my back, and my body creaks as I traverse the bedroom floor. My feet ache, and my hands bear the signs of fatigue. I can’t help but think I’m as old as my parents were when I viewed them as truly aging.
Embracing Change
I’ve reached a point where I won’t experience the miracle of carrying a child again. The days of cradling a tiny being are gone, as is the exhaustion of sleepless nights. My teenage daughter has grown up, driving herself to the store to buy me flowers for my birthday and arranging them in a vase.
I’ve learned to appreciate actions over appearances. The love songs that once resonated with me now seem distant, irrelevant to my life. Some nights, I long to slip into something that makes me forget my role as a mother, to lose myself in wild dancing, vibrant lights illuminating my spirit, reminding me that I’m still youthful and desirable.
Other nights, I find comfort in warm socks and the safety of my down comforter, snuggling close to my partner. When the house is silent and dark, I sometimes leap from the doorway to the bed, as if the floor is an ocean filled with unseen monsters, remnants of childhood fears lurking beneath the surface.
A New Beginning
At this age, I am a woman who knows, who does, who remembers. I nurture both my children and others, soothing them in times of need, having learned what to say and when to let silence linger. I’ve grown to appreciate my 39-year-old face, with its unique features, fine lines, and kind eyes.
As I embrace this year, I recognize it as a new beginning rather than an end—an opportunity to make this year truly meaningful. They say it’s downhill from here, but I choose to make this journey count. This is what 39 looks like for me.
Further Reading
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Summary
At 39, the author reflects on the unexpected realities of this age, confronting the paradoxes of aging, motherhood, and self-identity. Embracing the year as a fresh start, she recognizes the value of making it count, while also appreciating the beauty in her life experiences.