I celebrated my 39th birthday while in Ireland with Bill and friends last week. Feels like a lifetime ago if I am being honest. I haven’t even really thought about what this birthday means for me. The last of the 30s. The edge of the hill. The left side of the hump. The ending of my time on the right time of the societal split.
I know. I know. It’s not really like that anymore.
Except it totally is.
But… but… all the magazines are saying that 50 is the new 40!
Remember what I do. I’m not a public personality but I guess in some way… I do put it all out there. Every gig I get requires me to post photos and videos and tweet livestream clips showcasing where I am // who I am. When will the moment come when brands start deeming me as undesirable to their core demographic?
It’s something I think about – and quite often.
I love to write. I love to collaborate. I love to travel. I love to connect. I love to do what I do with every fiber of my being. But how much longer will they have me? I suppose that’s the question.
The board is changing. The game has completely shifted. I keep myself dizzy and unsteady jumping from one arcade competition to another.
What are the rules? Who are the players? What do I have to know? Can I still stay true to who I am? Don’t forget who you are. Don’t forget who you are. Don’t forget who you are.
But time keeps pushing forward unaware of my mental breakdowns. Unaware that my knees are beginning to hurt. Unaware that my children are starting to notice. Unaware that I am not sure if I have another ten years inside of me – I mean five – I mean three.
Will you still see me at 40? Age is just a number. Yes, I know. It’s printed in big, bold letters on that magazine cover… so, it must be true.
I guess we will find out – won’t we? This is the year of 40. What will I do with my time? How will I grow? What moments will I let define me? What stigmas will I let go of once and for all?
This is the year of 40.
Will everything change? Will nothing change? Which one of those thoughts scare me the most?