40 Unfolding

I can see clearly now that my 30s have gone.

The silent and immediate clemency that 40 granted me was unexpected. The invisible timeline of my 30s had dissolved; the constant urgency to obtain; the endless chase of a conditioned dream; an algorithm of angst…

Poof.

All the obstacles in my way…

Gone. 

It’s been 6 months since I turned 40 in a big bathtub in Peru, and, honey, it’s been glorious. This sense of ease has surprisingly been sustained, and I’ve been singing the praises of entering middle age ever since. 

“OMG! All of it – my life, my love, my relationships, my work, my home, my spirit, me. It’s enough. IT’S ALL ENOUGH! We did it!”

My Gen Z colleagues now gather around my elder millennial glow as I dole out wisdom collected along my picaresque path. They say I have allure, an epithet I bask in. 

Because I earned it! 

Indeed, my life has been a series of experiencing, seeking, agonizing, analyzing, romanticizing, unlearning, clarifying and, now, what I like to call The Great Unfolding. Letting it all just fucking be. Smelling the fucking roses. Actually going with the fuckin flow. (And dropping more F bombs to make me feel alive!)

Okay, but seriously. I have felt so free lately. I haven’t ruminated the way I usually do, or stressed out (that much) over small things. I’m showing up in spaces exactly the way I am, without the need to perform. I feel easy. I feel breezy. 

Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind. 

It also doesn’t hurt that 2026 is The Sacral Year. The year of receiving. The year I proclaimed to pursue pleasure without penance. To be grounded and graceful. To dance more. To say yes to what feels good. 

And 40 feels good. 

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I had a thought right before my birthday. Statistically, when I turn 40, the dating app algorithm will kick me out of the age range most men set. An already dismal pool made smaller. How sad that a potential partner will not meet me in my most realized form. I’ve never felt sexier or more radiant. Vital. Fuck the algorithm. 

What followed this thought was an immediate deletion of the apps that have distracted me for so many years. And the renewed challenge to go take my radiance to the people of God. Which I did, that same night. And I met a tall, British man. Tsunami Steve. What happened next was a rip current of revelry that led to a stormy affair in the Bermuda Triangle, leaving a wake of rapture and ruin. 

Jeez. 

I went out for a beer, and somehow summoned a full natural disaster.

Guess the radiance was strong that night. 

____________________________

So, this leads us to the middle. The warm, rooted, golden center. The sweet spot. 40. Maybe my favorite age yet. We will have to wait and see. 

For now, I will continue my writing journey and jot down my musing of what I come to know in hopes of finding humor and clarity in this wild and wonderful life. 

To all my single, 39-year-olds: Don’t panic. 

It’s gonna be a bright, BRIGHT, bright, bright, sunshiney decade. 

(and when the next wave comes, she’ll be ready to ride) 

Okay. Enough storm metaphors. See you soon.