On Turning 39 Years Old: An Open Letter

So here you are.
Almost 40.

Sure, it’s just a number (a place between 39 and 41), and yet, somehow, it feels like this new place. This is almost halfway place on the journey of life.
It’s funny how life is sprinkled with these checkmark moments—those places where you reflect on the past and mull over the future to come. And for some reason, that number 39 has made you think. Reflect.

I know I don’t have to tell you this, but time feels like it’s speeding up exponentially.
It’s easy to race through the days, running from thing to thing to thing—until the pages of the calendar flutter to the floor in a frenzy, leaving you wondering how time flies so fast.
Well, the truth? Time does go fast. I think it multiplies exponentially on the fastness continuum, the older one gets. So, because of that, one must simply force themselves to stop (just for a moment) and breathe. And look at your story, written into this vast world. This collection of stories that you write with everyone else sharing breath beside you.

You know the Twin Paradox in physics? The one where one twin travels at the speed of light and the other stays on Earth?
I’m the first twin, traveling at the speed of light.
Time is warping. And there’s never enough of it.

What is it about the bridge years that’s so hard?
I remember feeling this same apathy toward my 29th birthday, too.
To be fair, I’m actually excited to enter my forties, so it’s not that.
Something about moving into a new decade makes me feel optimistic and warm and fuzzy inside.
But 39? That hit me hard.

So now, I have a year until I enter a new decade.
What in the world am I going to do?
What have I learned?

I’ve learned that moments are what matter.
I’ve learned that there will be so many times when I feel like I simply can’t do it, and yet I pull myself up and just keep going.

I’ve learned how easy it is to cling to labels, to ideals, to all the should-do things… and the maybe-I-didn’t things.
They pile up like laundry, and the “basket of life” is just sitting there, waiting for you to make sense of it all.
I’ve wondered about the choices I’ve made in life, and I’ve held on too tightly to too many worries.

I’m flawed.
I don’t love everyone and everything. And not everyone loves me.
I’m getting wrinkles and gray hair, and I refuse to give up wine.
I still watch Disney movies, and I love unicorns.
I’m always working on loving myself and living a life that makes me feel content.
I am a work in progress. And I’m cool with that.

In 40 years from now, I probably won’t care that I didn’t have everything perfect.
I’ll care that I gave myself grace.
I’ll remember the times I was brave, even when I was full of fear.
Brave enough to keep going.
Even on the tired days. The normal days. The boring days.
The challenging days that stretch into weeks… which sometimes feel like months.

I’ve been brave. So brave. And I’m proud of that.

I’ve learned that it’s important to slow down.
To smile.
To give others the benefit of the doubt.

I’ve also learned how to speak my mind.
To stand up for myself.
To make hard choices.

I’ve learned that life is what it is.
Remember that time you thought,
“Oh, next year will be different.”
Or,
When I feel more confident… when everything falls into place… then I’ll feel okay. Then I’ll feel like myself.”

But what 39 taught me is: wholeness isn’t something you chase.
It’s something you build, in tiny, quiet, imperfect ways.

In early morning coffee. In knowing when to rest. In saying no. In holding boundaries. In dancing in the kitchen. In forgiving yourself: over and over again.

39 taught me that I’m still becoming.
And that is more than enough.

♥ Thank you for listening to my middle-aged rant. Cheers to what the next year will bring!

Photo by Ty Williams on Unsplash