I turned 40 just over a week ago.
At 39 years and 364 days old, I threw a party to celebrate my impending birthday. It was socially overwhelming and wonderful. My parents were there. Old and new friends were there. Our wedding photographer took beautiful portraits of everyone. Afterwards, about 10 of us spread out in a friend’s living room, drinking and chatting until 2am.
On my 40th birthday, I spent a large part of the day in the car – tired, hungover, eating snacks in the back seat, Rigby on my lap. That night, I ate my favorite dish at home, cooked by my favorite person, with friends that had traveled across the Pacific Ocean to be with us. We went to bed early. It was perfect.
At 40 years and 1 day old, I spent the day driving along the Great Ocean Road and through the Otway rainforest with Jesse and our friends, stopping at scenic spots and taking photos. That evening, I started feeling sick. I spent that night (and the rest of that week) quarantined in my home office with COVID-19.
At 40 years and 2 days old, I sat in our living room, masked, several meters away from Jesse. After a long day of feeling unwell, making tense phone calls, and attempting to work from bed, I listened as our buyer’s agent congratulated us over speakerphone: our final offer on a dream home, in a dream location, had been accepted.
We couldn’t hug or kiss to celebrate. I was too sick to drink a glass of champagne. We slept in separate beds for the rest of the week, making the whole thing even more surreal.
Never in our wildest dreams did we expect to end up in the kind of home we found. We made the decision to move closer to friends and family over a year and a half ago, and even after selling our home last month, the finish line still felt so far away.
Suddenly, the finish line was in sight, and it looked spectacular.
Leading up to my birthday, and at my party, I got asked “how do you feel about turning 40?” a lot.
Each time, I paused to think about it to see if my answer had changed since the last time I was asked – but each time, the answer was roughly the same:
Wonderful.
I turned 30 with friends in Golden Gate Park, San Francisco – sick, with yet to be diagnosed ME/CFS, not knowing there was almost a decade of mental and physical health battles ahead of me.
I entered my 30s afraid for my future. Disconnected from my body.
I’m entering my 40s excited about my future and in my body. I finally feel like myself.
My health isn’t perfect. Anything could happen tomorrow. That’s true for all of us. But: I’m enjoying how I feel right now, and putting in the work to maintain it for as long as I possibly can. I’ve learned to love the work.
Most of all, I’m grateful for entering my 40s surrounded and supported by the most incredible people. Especially Jesse. (As always, words fail me.)
I honestly don’t know how I got so lucky.
