I'm actually finding it easier to tell people how old I'm going to be. It's something, right?
Today I don't have any profound epiphanies about turning 40. I suspect it will be just as I've been warned - just another day in my life, only my friends will be there and I'll get presents. And I can't wait for the funny cards. The ones I've seen going to other people before me are now destined to be on the mantle, like little cardboard cheerleaders waiting to brighten my special day.
Tomorrow I'm getting a day at the spa, which should be quite lovely. I've earned some pampering, that's for sure. The future scares me, so I might as well make each moment as enjoyable as possible.
Forty is definitely not seen as it used to be, or at least when I was little. Forty was old. Forty was almost dead. If thirty wasn't some far away island that you felt you'd never get to, then forty was another planet altogether. But now I'm closing in, and I can see the shore just ahead. What new adventures await me in this unexplored land? What monstrous turmoils will I be overcoming? At least I know which ones are worth losing sleep over. It's getting better - just a few more things to sort out and then I might actually be content, or at least not so neurotic. We can only hope.
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