Last week I turned 40 and felt neither melancholy nor a rush of euphoria having reached this milestone.
By all accounts, 40 seems to be a turning point many women dread. My 40th arrived without ringing a bell; in fact, it quietly arrived and departed without pomp and circumstance. Turning forty did not exempt me from the daily grind of work, school work, after school activities, more work, and other sundry obligations.
The day, as it were, was ordinary and predictable.
Except that now I am 40, and by all accounts, I’ve run out of excuses. I’m no longer 30 and wistful of my carefree 20s. At 40, the responsibility of being a fully committed spouse, parent and daughter cannot be transferred or postponed. As it turns out, I have to set a good example to my children, who look onto B and I, as righteous stewards of their future.
I recall writing this 2 years ago and how, during a moment of self-pity, I thought 40 was a type of dead-end to all unaccomplished goals. I thought if I hadn’t completed certain professional and personal goals by this time, the clock would effectively, turn its back on me.
In fact, the clock hasn’t stopped ticking away and it hasn’t told me I’ve run out time. Instead, it stands by my sidelines, inexorably marking the days away, urging me to be productive and thoughtful with my time.
So, where and how do I wish to invest my time? I hope this year to give my husband and children time — time and attention spent fully vested in them.
In effect, time to spend with these irreplaceable fools ♥