By Cathy Thurber
So, on Monday I turned 39.
In the days coming up to my birthday I wasn’t very happy about it. This meant I was one year closer to forty. From everything I’ve heard, you start to fall apart at forty – and I’m not ready to fall apart! I was getting angry about the fact that this was my last year in my thirties. It went so fast; I feel like I blinked and missed the entire decade!
And then I started thinking about it…..why be so depressed? The thirties were excellent years for me. I was able to watch my children grow and become the young individuals they are today. We took them to Disney World twice (much to my husband’s dismay) and I got to see the wonder and delight in each of their eyes at that particular age when fantasy can still coexist with real life. There’s nothing more beautiful than watching your children stare in wide-eyed wonder at something they’ve never seen before – something they never thought was possible – and then look at you with that mixture of disbelief/hope/joy in their eyes. There’s nothing more glorious than hearing your children laugh with unbridled delight.
The thirties were a decade of self-discovery for me. I became my own person and learned how to stay true to myself. I made my own decisions and didn’t second guess what my parents would say. I didn’t have time to play “high school popularity games” anymore like some people I still knew. A person either accepted me as I was or I didn’t worry about it.
I have one more year in this great decade and I’ll make the most of it. But mostly, I’ll try to look forward to the forties without trepidation. Imagine what will happen then….I’ll watch my kids continue to grow and graduate from high school. Near the end, my husband and I might even have a moment to ourselves. What a novel concept!
Bring it on, 39. I’ve got a good thing going and better things up ahead.