That was 40…

How the hell is it September 1st?  Seriously.  Can someone please explain this to me? Because evidently I’ve lost all grasp of how time works.  The birthday month of gluttony (yes, I get the whole month. You can have one too – I won’t judge) is a 3.9 weeks in the past – the final celebration concluding with a long overdue dinner with my parents in early August. I accomplished only a fraction of the items on the “before I turn 40” to-do list (let’s be honest, no one finds this surprising), but the ones I did manage were pretty amazing.  Some of the undone will be a good hold over for the 41^st year and a few were just too ridiculous out of the gate. The stories will unfold, but I’m still basking in gratitude and reeling from the birthday vacation that so drastically exceeded my expectations I’m still coming down from the high. I was reminded over and again in so many ways that I’m the luckiest girl alive, that I have made and kept incredible people in my life from every chapter, and that laughing at myself does indeed keep me young (except for the peeing on myself a little bit part, but we don’t need to talk about that).  Just a smattering of the happenings from July that made me happy to be facing the next decade:

I held a gigantic sparkler and didn’t go blind, catch fire, or die (though I can’t say I didn’t make some horrible “holy shitsnacks” faces – see #4).

I watched dragonflies hump on my leg and sat still solely to allow a butterfly the opportunity to explore the terrain of my shoulder before flying off to the next destination.

I took 1001 photos and laughed until I couldn’t breathe. I reminisced with friends from almost every chapter in my life & told each and every one of them I loved them. I ate and drank and slept and soaked up the sun with the gluttony of a woman condemned.  And kissed a dead moose wearing a party hat while wearing a custom made “40” antler beanie of my very own.  Bet you didn’t do that on your birthday.

I rode a unicorn named Steve and a giant duck named Jake on the clear waters of Sebago Lake and donned a kangaroo onesie while singing The Sound of Music’s “So Long, Farewell” on a staircase with a unicorn Pegasus, a frog, two sloths, and a flying squirrel, and fell asleep next to my favorite giraffe (and no, there were no drugs involved).

 

I channeled the innocent spirit of the girls who camped there decades before, doing cartwheels and handstands, climbing on rocks, and singing songs. Granted, I may have been more inebriated than campers in the 40s, but I guarantee we had at least as much fun.  We did not, however, attempt to stand on horses.  Because standing on horses is dangerous.  Idiots.

I confessed my thoughts for the future to my silly, beautiful, caring tribe and was met with positivity and encouragement even though they reek of midlife crisis and the uncertainty of the road less traveled.

I didn’t check my email for an entire week or wake up in a cold sweat wondering if something got done or slipped between the cracks. Miraculously (and somewhat disappointingly), the world went on spinning back in California without me. I saw the sunset and sunrise on the opposite ends of the same lake and enjoyed the quiet moments for myself rather than telling the faceyspace about them.

Mostly, I celebrated the passage of time & rang in the next decade surrounded by people I love in a place that is nothing short of magical. I cannot imagine a better induction to the next chapter.

My 40^th year may have had ups and downs that felt unmanageable in many ways. There were days I physically could not get out of bed, a hospital visit, stresses and fears and angst, and too many tears to count. But in every case there was a silver lining: Some of those tears were the result of uncontrollable fits of laughter. The stress and angst led to a decision to look fear in the eye. The days in bed and the hospital visit taught me to listen to my body more and tell it to fuck off less. Lessons that will hopefully lead to a life lived with more intention, appreciation and positivity.

Here’s to seeing what the next decade (ok, 9 years, 10.5 months) holds in store.  Personally, I’m hoping for more tutus.