Uncharted: How Turning 40 Helped Me to Re-write My Own Story

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This is how 40 feels

Approaching 40 has me all sorts of reflective. Now that I’m coming up on it I realize it doesn’t feel as old as it used to sound. Physically I feel pretty damn good. Most of the time, most of my days, I feel younger than my years. Yet time creeps up on the body slowly, gradually, in a way that you don’t notice day over day, but seemingly happens overnight.

I feel my age when I get up in the middle of the night and I have to take a beat to find my feet beneath me before heading to the bathroom. Most recently, I feel it when I wake up in the morning and my hands need a minute to stretch the ache out (although this one could be as much age as it is poor at-home desk set-up).

Just last week I took a 20 mile ride that felt incredible in the moment. One of those days when I could have peddled endlessly. One of those days when it didn’t feel like effort, but more like your spirit was pulling you forward on a string, guiding you towards bliss. That feeling of bliss was short lived. After I returned home, the ride caught up with me quick. The endorphin high was gone and a late afternoon nap went from luxury to necessity. I had never felt more my age. My body was reminding me of my years. This is how 40 feels.

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This is how 40 looks

Coming up on 40 is a feeling. It’s also a look. Now I know what Rod Stewart was getting at when Maggie May’s young lover sings “The morning sun, when it’s in your face really shows your age.” The lines on my face, around my eyes, along my neck happened so slowly, almost imperceptibly, that they can often go unnoticed until I see myself in a picture, or staring back at me in the bathroom mirror after subpar sleep.

I see my age most in my face. On the one hand it’s beautiful. Every line around my eyes reflects the wonderful feeling of the sun on my skin, the joy of laughter, or the undeniable pull of a smile so big, it spreads across my entire face. Lines are literal markings of a life lived, expressed, felt. On the other hand it’s hard to accept when your spirit feels far younger than your face would suggest. It’s also hard to accept when aging women are so clearly rejected by society. The pressure to look preserved is everywhere, on every screen I see. When did it become contrarian to age naturally?

The pressure to maintain the appearance of youth is real. I feel it. Particularly as a single woman. For another cultural message I receive on the regular is that desirability deceases as your age increases. On my good days, it’s an easy message to reject. And on other days it’s an easy trap to fall into. But there's one thought that always helps to pull me up: I’ve never banked on my looks. I’m not saying that I am not aware of them but it’s never been my lead.

For me, my physical appearance has always been tempered by my disability. I’ve never fully bought into my beauty because I’ve always seen my disability as a detractor. More recently, I have been doing a lot of work to love my whole self, mangled legs and all.

I’ve always led with my personality. A personality cultivated in large part by my disability. From a very young age I developed a friendly personality. I wanted people to like me. More than that, I wanted people to get to know me before my disability. Now I can see this was a defense mechanism, get people to like me before they can dismiss me based on appearance. As I’ve gotten older, I have been doing a lot of work on acceptance. To learn to love my whole self, disability and all. For a long time I tried to compartmentalize it, separate my disability from myself. Over time, the more I realize it is not something to distance myself from, but to embrace.

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Letting go of what I thought my life would look like

The hardest part about turning 40 is letting go of what I thought my life would look like by now. I thought I would be married. I thought I would be a mother. I have held on to those desires for a long time. And it’s not that I no longer want them, but I am letting go of my attachment to them. For if Buddha taught us anything, it’s that suffering comes from want.

I am letting go of the suffering, the sadness, the lack. And here’s a radical thought, I am accepting my life as it is. For as a recent meditation put it, acceptance is our super power. I am accepting my life as it is right now. I typically get the birthday blues, a general cloud of sadness leading up to my birthday, dwelling on what I don't have. So I was fearful of my 40th. I thought for sure the blues were coming to get me with a vengeance fit for a milestone year. But it’s like bracing to get caught playing hide and seek and no one finds you. The blues didn’t come. And I think it’s because for the first time, I can honestly say I am grateful to be with life as it is.

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Welcoming acceptance

That gratitude comes from acceptance. An acceptance I came upon thanks to a live meditation with one of my favorite guides, Dora Kamau. With her gentle guidance I realized that I have been holding back from accepting the choices that got me here. I was holding back because I wasn’t ready to take responsibility for my actions.

I used to see my singleness as something that was happening to me. I now see that in order to accept where I am, I need to let go of that way of thinking. I need to let go of being a victim of circumstance. It’s not my time. I haven’t met the right person. There are no available men. No. It was my choice to be single. I can now see that and accept it.

I chose not to put myself out there. In my early-mid 30s I was actively dating and even in a few short term relationships. But somewhere in my late 30s I stopped trying full stop. I wasn’t seeing a return on the investment of the time I was putting into online profiles and a cycle of first dates. And it was easy for me to stop because I was content with my life and I relish my own company. It’s easy for me to be alone, it’s my default setting.

I can see clearly now why it is my default. As Mark Groves simply put it, the fear of love is the fear of rejection. I was rejecting myself before I gave anyone else a chance. Why was I rejecting myself? Another piece of the puzzle that now seems obvious in hindsight. I was rejecting myself because I couldn’t love my whole self.

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Learning to love my whole self

I am great at loving a good chunk of who I am, but I don’t love my disability. There I said it. A truth so painful that I kept it buried for most of my life. As Glennon Doyle writes in Untamed, “You can control yourself or love yourself but you can’t do both.” I was so busy trying to control the perception of my disability, my ableness, my normalcy, that I couldn’t love it. I was so busy trying to prove that I was just the same as everyone else, just as smart, just as capable, just as personable, that I was hoping people would lose sight of it. I couldn’t love it, because I couldn’t acknowledge it.

I can acknowledge it now. It’s taken years. It’s taken work. Lots of work. Acknowledgement has led me down the path of acceptance. It’s a path I walk every day. And similar to self love it’s not a final destination, but a never ending journey. I am accepting my life as it is right now. I am choosing to be with life as it is. I am surrendering to be with life as it is. I am grateful to be with myself as I am.

I have been given the gift of time. Time to get to know myself, time to find out what I truly want, time to savor my own company. Time to recognize that the love I’ve been looking for all these years has been my own.

I now see that where I am is right where I belong. Life doesn’t adhere to a timeline. Just as each person’s path is different, so is their timing. I don’t know when my next chapter will begin. But I’ve stopped trying to read ahead to the ending and started embracing my current chapter. I see the beauty in the unknown, the pages yet to be written. I have nothing but possibility ahead of me. As the song this post is named after goes, "It's all uncharted."

Here’s to 40.

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