I turned forty last month. Instantly things started to unhinge. There was change-a-happenin’.
Like a switch. I’ve heard from others in my “club”, that this is a phenomenon.
Also, I no longer gave a rats ass.
As if my inner editor had resigned over something stupid, like ” Should I really worry if people will think my earrings are too fancy for casual clothes?”
“OF course they care, idiot! Who do you think you are? You think you’re cool enough to pull that shit off? Only Hollywood can do that. How dare you question me. And P.S. when’s your due date muffin top?”
What?! Go fuck yourself inner editing bitch. Your job of making me feel like shit is over. I’m forty. Forty years old.
I couldn’t stop. I was witnessing total change. Change that (bless their hearts) thirty somethings crave. All hopped up in their lulublahblah pants, with their ideas, and journey bullshit travels. Fuck them.
The biggest problem I have is my own personality. I’ve spent my whole life brushing people’s horseshit off as an “Oh well, It’s O.K”. Or my favourite, not saying anything, then passive aggressively knitting a knot in my stomach.
So when this new me starts to emerge, I’m obviously frightened.I am suddenly tossing side eyes at everyone. I was demanding my place in the world.
Once, a girl who could only sass back to her journal, she was now telling the poor cashier that the fucking cheese didn’t come up on sale. Normally I would’ve let it go not wanting to hold up the line. Not now. Now I want my cheese. On sale. If it takes all Fucking night.
It’s been a month. I’m trying to grab the reigns, to use my new powers for good. But, I’m having the time of my life.
I un-friended mean people, threw out control top restraints, let my kids eat Popsicles for dinner. Jimmy cracked corn and I don’t give a fuck. Crack your corn Jimmy. All the live long day.
I feel like the man who skips along after a night of Viagra binging.
It used to take me an hour to pick outfits. Worrying what people would think. Does it match, is it cool, does it properly suck in, tuck in and hide my muffin top? Fuck it. Now when I think people are staring down my due date, I grab my belly fat and shake it. How do you like that? Scared? Get your wonder out of my waddle. Nosey Parkers.
Of course it’s not just my mind that’s changing. It’s my body too. I had my first night of sweats. Sleeping naked on top of covers in air conditioning did nothing. Nothing but make me Google “early menopause”.
For the first time YOLO spoke to me. Annoying, but fucking truth. I don’t have time to worry, and wonder about other people. I have to make it through the second half. And while from sixteen to thirty-nine I thought I knew everything. I now know, that I knew NOTHING. Now I know that I’m not taking shit from anyone, especially myself.
It’s a game changer. Forty is. It’s fabulous, fearless and fucked-up.
(This post originally ran on Detached From Logic)
Between 50 & 60 people start working on a “bucket list.”
However, around the age of forty, I created a “fuck it list.”
It included: unfriending assholes, wearing what’s comfortable, not waiting in line, and shaving my head (because I didn’t feel like having a receding hair line).
Hell, sometimes, I don’t even bother to match my socks.
I just turned 40 and this is so fucking me! Also I am No. 4 in the line of children my kids had, the youngest and I am totally sick of everyone treating me like I am still 5. I have thrown that all off and I am very much in the “fuck it” world. Plus I even posted something on my facebook with the word FUCK on it, and my Dad can read it. Livin’ the dream. haha
I loved reading this. I’m going to keep it handy and reread it whenever I start worrying about what others think!
I turned 38 this year, and I already feel I don’t give a f*ck about things. The most important thing don’t give a rats ass about is my age. I no longer care about getting to ‘older each year’. It doesn’t bother me at all.