Today is my 41st birthday. Now that I’ve been in my forties for an entire year, I have a few observations to make:
Last week my friend unceremoniously yanked out my very first white hair. It was a bit shocking. Mostly because she stealthily attacked me, like a ninja. I guess I should count myself lucky that I still don’t need to dye my hair, but now I’ve started to wonder how long that will last.
I give a lot fewer shits about most things in general. It’s strange when I notice, probably because it happened so gradually, it’s unsettling. And then when I do give a shit about something, I do so much more intensely but in a less neurotic, haphazard manner.
It’s much harder to date in your forties (this was a given, but it’s different when you’re experiencing it rather than just theorizing). Actually, dating isn’t harder, or I wouldn’t know whether it is or not, what’s harder is all the stuff that happens before dating. Like meeting a person, talking to them, flirting…. Last time I was in this situation I’d go hang out at bars with my friends and we were hyper-aware of our surroundings, of the men around us, smiling and interacting with our body language. Now when I meet my friends in a bar I’m so absorbed by the conversation I forget to look around. Also, I don’t like to wear my glasses (or contacts) so making suggestive eye contact across the room is pretty much not going to happen. And my tolerance for game playing is nonexistent. So you see my problem.
I’m also finally starting to learn to do what I want rather than what’s expected. Worrying about what makes me happy rather than pleasing other people or letting myself feel guilty for everything that goes wrong. I still have to work on being gracious and graceful, but I’ll get there. And then I’ll be perfect.
Overall forty-ish isn’t bad for now and I have the feeling this decade can only get better. So I guess I’m back to being an optimist now.