The past week hasn't been bad. Not by any stretch of my imagination. It's just been busy. So? Forty is BUSY.
And that's amazing. I love it. Almost as much as I love the peaceful feeling of today.
See the week before I turned 40 I helped run the Book Fair at Angela's school for six days. And then I caught a cold. And then I took the Friday night redeye flight to Michigan to say goodbye to Elaine. I had birthday eve breakfast with my parents. And then I flew back and had a birthday dinner/last day of being 39 dinner with eight amazing friends.
And then I turned 40.
I celebrated with a boxful of cards from friends near and far, young and old, that Angela had contacted asking to shower me with words for my birthday. I went through the box for hours Wednesday night. And I am going to go through it again tonight. The people who reached out, the love in those words -- I just cannot express how much they mean to me, the people and the words. And I celebrated with my cousin Jamee and a few days of sightseeing and fun. And I celebrated with Angela, who made cake and cleaned the house, and helped friends pick out gifts and who, along with my parents, bought me an amazing gift -- a brand new MacBook. More words. More writing. More love.
I was talking with a friend today, a friend older than me, though not by much. And we were talking about where our years have taken us and how we got to today. We talked about our paths, and our people, what's made us who we are. And I said I don't feel any different than I did two weeks ago. But I do feel different than I did two years ago.
I feel freer. I feel like I have a voice and I am finally figuring out how to use it the way I want to. I am careful but I am not apologetic. I am strategic. I am myself.
I say what I want to say. I explain myself and sometimes, I don't. I write. I sing. I share. I love. I love loudly and messily and in ways some will never understand. I love those who love me. Those who can't love me. Those who don't love me. Those who won't love me. I love because in my 40 years, that's the best gift I've ever been given: love. Sometimes it's in the form of a hug or a kiss or a word. Sometimes it's in the form of a computer or a mug or a funny little magnet. Sometimes it's in the form of a letter or a cake or a shared joke. Sometimes it's in the form of a question. Sometimes it's in the form of an answer.
I am honestly astounded by what forty looks like. And then again, not surprised at all. It looks like me. It looks like life. It is imperfect and hard and wonderful and full. It is being excited for television shows on Hulu or low-fat ice cream or a meeting with a producer. It is writing something I know will be seen on a screen soon. It is believing I can do something and telling people I can do something and having them believe it too. And then doing it. It is exciting and boring and everything in between.
Forty is wearing shorts and running shoes because it's hot out and I think I look cute even if no one else agrees or cares. Forty is rewriting a nine-year-old script because I am better now than I was then. Forty is getting up at 5:05am (not 5am, those five extra minutes mean everything) to go to the gym and walk on the treadmill even if the scale doesn't budge. Forty is asking your family questions and recording their answers and listening, really listening, to their stories. Forty is knowing when to say yes and when to say no and when to say I have no idea but I'm going to do it anyway.
This is what forty looks like. And it doesn't look like anyone else's 40 and I've come to terms with that. Because my 40 is amazing. Oh so amazing.
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