I’ve been forty for a minute now. And by minute, I mean months.
And it’s been a happy one. And by happy I mean that I no longer have to fight with an ancient MacBook because my husband gave me the best birthday present ever, my children can wipe their own noses, and I like who I am.
There’s a reason that bloggers my age don’t write a whole lot about fashion and all of their beauty tips have to do with anti-aging products. Our bodies are weird. Gray hairs, unexplained recurrences of acne, or the fact that our arms are holding hands we recognize as belonging to our mothers…the list goes on. Who really wants to write about that?
There’s also a reason that there are so many blogs about the wonders of turning 40, about our faith, about all kinds of thinkerly thoughts. It’s the magic age where one becomes truly comfortable in their own skin…comfortable enough to not worry about trends or what someone will think about the Wonder Woman lego minifig on her keychain. Because if she likes it, she’ll put it on there. One finds that it really isn’t such a big deal to have an opinion and defend it, as long as kindness prevails. Or at least these are trends that I am noticing among my writing peers.
And it’s not just me. And yes. I have a WW Lego minifig on my keychain. I’ve seen blog after blog and watched my friends experiencing this metamorphosis…this wonder of the 40’s.
It wasn’t that I experienced an overnight change or anything. Just a becoming. A slow one.
Last night I was clicking through some archives on my blog and I found this one that I wrote six months ago. And really…the beauty in going back is that I got to see that it wasn’t just a phase that let me revert back to old habits. It’s more like when a caterpillar reaches the age of maturity, sews itself up in a cocoon and basically allows itself to be remade from scratch. There’s no reverting back to old habits and ways. It’s a new creature. And that describes how I feel.
I’m finally comfortable in my own skin. I like who I am and what I’m doing right now. I wear flat shoes, geeky glasses and have learned to embraced the curly hair given to me by my second born. I blog. I make pretty things on my computer screen. I homeschool my kids. I like my life.
The grass is not greener on the other side, but I feel the need to explore my own pasture a little bit more. I’m resting in the fact that I am not fully who I will one day become, a thought that both scares my socks off and makes me quiver with excitement.
I’m still becoming…but my forties are looking pretty awesome, y’all. I get to start out a brand new decade of life actually liking myself. But I’m also looking forward to what I might be in ten years.
[Tweet ” The grass is not greener on the other side, but I feel the need to explore my own pasture a little bit more.”]
I’m a work in progress. I’m not a career. I’m not “just a mom.” Each season of life has left me a different person than the one who entered it with new skills and experiences and thoughts. Looking back, seeing those changes…well, let’s just say, the Maria of 20 years ago would definitely not have understood each decision made, or the various paths chosen, but I think she would be pleased with the confident woman she will become, even if she wouldn’t change her major in college. Silly girl.
The full post appeared here back in January: Becoming.