I have officially entered my 40s. And life has not come to a screeching halt.
I have approached this birthday with a little bit of trepidation. Somehow crossing 40 seems like a real threshold. In one's 30s one is still a "young adult", so to speak. If you're in your 30s, you're considered too young to run for major public office, usually. You're not experienced enough.
But lots of people in their 40s can run, because when you're 40, you have all the experience you need. You're not "too young" anymore. I kind of liked being "too young" for a lot of things.
Nevertheless, I don't really mind not being young anymore, primarily because I didn't particularly enjoy my younger years. With each passing year I have become more at peace, more fulfilled, and happier. As a teen I was so focused on finding a boyfriend or finding people to love me. In university I was tortured by the quesiton, "will I ever get married?" Once I did marry, I was worried that we'd never work out our problems. And then, as I began having babies, I was exhausted, I was worried about their health, I wondered at times who I was.
Here's me at 26, sharing some of my special days with my son before he left us:
And here's me two weeks ago, with no makeup, at a youth retreat with my kids:
Now I sleep all I want (primarily because my oldest is not yet old enough to drive. I hear sleepless nights begin again with the advent of a driver's license). I truly enjoy my children. I love my husband. I have found my niche in life. I'm no longer insecure about relationships, or about who I am, or about my calling. I'm more at peace with just being me.
I have been told, too, by countless people that the 40s is way better than the 30s, because you're far more confident, and I do believe that. I'm also relatively healthy, so I don't see any reason necessarily why I should not be just as active in the next decade. So it's not like I'm getting "old".
I did a bit of a shock last week while visiting another church to speak. On the wall was a poster for their seniors' group, which they called "50 plus". And I thought, "I'm only 10 years away from being a senior!" That was weird.
But then it hit me: when I'm 50, I'll likely have grandchildren. And I am so looking forward to grandchildren. At 50, Rebecca will be 26. Katie will be 24. Those will be fun years.
I think you hit an age where you stop measuring yourself by the years that you have passed, and you start measuring yourself by how old your children are, and what stage of life you're at. I'm looking forward to the Grandma days. I'm looking forward to the days when my husband can cut back from work a bit, and we can go overseas for a bit more of an extended time to do some ministry work. I'm looking forward to having more time to devote to speaking.
Perhaps we're scared of getting old because we're really scared of dying. I don't think about that much. I figure when my time is up it's up, and God's waiting for me. I'm more scared of slowly deteriorating, as I watched some of my grandparents do, but perhaps that's just another period of one's life when one learns grace and patience.
So today I am celebrating 40. I am confident. I am happy. I so love my family, and I'm grateful that God has given me so many to love. And life is good.
Every Friday my syndicated column appears in a variety of newspapers in southeastern Ontario. Here's this week's:
This Saturday night, families will be stuffing warm sweaters underneath Cinderella costumes and Superman capes as they go door to door taking candy from strangers. Personally, I’m not a big Hallowe’en fan. I love the mini chocolate bars, but I’ve never liked walking around in the cold, especially since it seems to rain on Hallowe’en about 98% of the time.
But dressing up is a time-honoured tradition, and my daughters were never content unless they had make-up caked on their faces so they could look pretty.
Fast forward twenty or thirty years and it’s not really so different. Many adult women go to great pains to try to look pretty, too. I’m a big fan of lipstick, and moisturizer does wonders. A while back I bought a special “moisturizer for men” for Keith to use when he did all that snow shovelling—I figured that was the least I could do, since I certainly wasn’t about to go out there and help him—but he refused to wear it. Turns out he likes wrinkles. He thinks they make him look distinguished, like his father.
It’s acceptable for a man to age. It’s a sin for a woman to. Our glory days are supposedly in our youth, and it’s all downhill from there, according to magazine covers and our entertainment culture. What tripe. I’m a whole lot happier at just-a-few-months-to-forty than I was right before I hit nineteen. And I’m a whole lot more awake than I was just before I hit thirty, when my children were in the rock around the clock baby stage. I love much of what has already happened in my life. I loved my babies, I loved dating my husband, and I loved my university friends. But I wasn’t necessarily able to enjoy those days well.
Either I was worried about what was ahead—would I find the right guy? Would I do well in school? Would I have children?—or I was too busy to enjoy it. Sure it’s exciting when your life is a blank slate before you, but it’s stressful, too. And relationships aren’t as easy-going as the media likes to paint them, either. The best friendships we have with other women tend to come later in life. When we’re younger, we’re often more competitive, catty, and sensitive. In later life, you chalk it up to hormones or peri-menopause or hot flashes and you move on.
As you age, too, you become far more comfortable in your own skin. You’ve come to terms with that cellulite that mortified you at 28. And you come to terms with the rest of your disappointments, too. You know life does not always go as planned, but you learn to recover. You become stronger for it. You gain perspective. You stop sweating the small stuff. Even the sex is better as you age, according to studies. Those in long term, committed relationships tend to be far more satisfied than the young singles who “hook up”, no matter what Paris Hilton may want you to believe.
It’s time we stopped idolizing youth and start idolizing aging. Youth really isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, with its insecurities and stresses and questions. When we age, we forgive ourselves. We focus our priorities and figure out what really matters. And that, I think, makes life richer, even if we do have disappointments and unachieved dreams. Life isn’t going downhill; it’s getting better. One day those under 30 will realize that the perfect life isn’t young Cinderella; it’s her middle aged neighbour who has survived all that drama and now gets to write her own story. And trust me, it’s going to be a good one.
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About Me: I'm a Christian author of a bunch of books, and a frequent speaker to women's groups and marriage conferences. Best of all, I love homeschooling my daughters, Rebecca and Katie. And I love to knit. Preferably simultaneously.
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I hope you can read it! I tried to crop the best I could, but I'm not sure I did a great job! Anyway, I thought it was funny!
