I’m 40. Why is this the hardest age so far?

I look in the mirror, and I don’t see a 40 year old woman. To me, that’s always been an old person. I remember when my mom turned 40, because we threw her a big surprise party and everyone professed she was “over the hill” all the balloons and decor were black. Even the frosting on the cake. 

It seemed like such a dark way to celebrate something as awesome as a birthday to me, and I made a mental note right there that 40 meant old. 

Well, now it’s upon me, and I can see the wrinkles, the grey hair starting to mix in with my blonde. (My once every four months highlighting appointments are about to get a lot more frequent.) My back hurts when I stand for a little too long, and I can’t eat a cheeseburger and fries without consequence anymore. 

My acne is back. There should be some sort of law against acne and wrinkles at the same time. Who’s idea of a cruel joke was that? 

But there’s some other stuff that happens when you’re 40, too. Things you don’t think about when you’re 20. 

I know what I want to be when I grow up and I’m doing it. I am a three time author, I work at a job that I absolutely adore.

I own my own business, and I make all my own hours. 

My kid is old enough to spend Sunday afternoon lounging on the couch with me binging on Gilmore girls or vampire diaries. We talk about life and boys. She’s not just my favorite kid in the world, she’s become one of my favorite people in the world. 

I’m on my second husband. The first didn’t work out all that great, but this time things are different. I’m happy with my marriage and my relationship. 

I’ve got nieces and nephews that look up to me. I’m the oldest, so they’re a little younger than my kid. I get to watch them play together and enjoy the heck out of each other. 

I love my house. So much. It’s always a work in progress, of course, but it’s perfectly me. My bedspreads are colorful and bright, the art on my wall makes me smile because it’s stuff I actually chose myself. It’s a happy place to be. A home. 

And that’s kind of what 40 is. Yeah, my face has more wrinkles and I can’t run on a treadmill like I used to, but who cares?

I’m happy, my family is happy.  

40 is older, but older doesn’t mean awful. It means so, so much more than that. Sure I’m over the hill, but there’s a whole mountain still left to climb.