40

After starting this blog, I started getting kind of nostalgic, so I reread some of my old blog posts that I haven’t read in years.

And what was interesting was that it was such a weird time capsule into my life on the cusp of 30.

Ten years ago, I was living in London, preparing for exams, and wondering where in the world I would live next. The possibilities seemed infinite.

Ten years later, as I write this, my husband is watching tv downstairs, and my two kids are sleeping screaming upstairs. I have a mortgage, a job, and a place on multiple school committees. Moving across the street would involve huge amounts of work, never mind moving across the country.

I entered my thirties with a million different possibilities for how my life could go.

And I spent the decade gradually winnowing them down.

It sounds sad, doesn’t it. There’s something so romantic about millions of possible lives. About being 30 and so unencumbered that you could move to India, Washington DC, or San Francisco.

But there’s also something romantic about charting a path for yourself. For taking possibilities off the table. After all, there’s nothing like marriage to take 7.5 billion possibilities off the table.

My twenties were about growing up. About dating and having my heart broken. Getting my first real job. Buying my first car on my own. Doing my taxes without help. Grieving the loss of my father. My twenties are when I moved to LA and then to London.

My thirties were about building my life. Meeting my husband. Moving in together. Planning a wedding.

Getting pregnant. Giving birth. Breastfeeding around the clock. Never sleeping. (I don’t miss that AT ALL.)

Building my career. Becoming a manager. Developing and honing my skill set.

When you look at it that way, my thirties were a LOT of work.

Maybe that’s why when friends ask “How are you feeling about turning 40?” that I, with no hesitation say, “Awesome!”

Because I’m actually looking forward to moving on.

I’m proud of my past decade. I’m proud of the foundations I built.

And now, I hope this decade? That I get to spend a little more time on myself.

More time sleeping and zero time nursing.

More time having interesting conversations with my kids and less time cleaning up dirty diapers.

More time for dinners with friends. More time for dates with my husband. Less time feeling like I’m struggling to keep my head above water.

Getting old, it turns out, can be a blessing. I loved my twenties and thirties, but I have high hopes that my forties will be my favorite decade yet.

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