I turn forty very soon. Apart from the fact that it’s nearing me another year closer to death which I’m not too thrilled about, I don’t really have a problem with it.

Last year for the first time ever I focused heavily on my health. I gave up alcohol, started exercising and made a rather half-arsed attempt to eradicate sugar from my diet (here’s looking at you, Nutella). I’m probably the healthiest and fittest I’ve ever been and it feels great.

I just don’t want to die prematurely because I am terrified of my kids having no Mum. I guess I’m a little bit hung up on it but I figure that’s more of a good than a bad thing because it means I don’t do anything that could potentially risk my life.

In my quest for ‘eternal life’ and with lots of spare thinking time now that I’ve taken up endurance running, I think a lot about getting older and how it sucks that I’m only really starting to understand myself, and the universe, now that I’m on the downhill slide to physical deterioration.

Without sounding like too much of a drama queen, I know I’m not ancient but I think forty is when we start to notice the physical signs of ageing. I know these aren’t life threatening things but they’re a stark reminder that we’re getting older.

My eyesight is starting to get worse. I have to stand in the sunlight to read the tiny microscopic writing they put on medicine bottles. I swear to God nobody can read that writing.

I’m also starting to do that thing where when you go to sit on the floor to play with the kids, it’s a half a dozen position manoeuvre to actually make it to the floor, and a dozen on the way back up. Long gone are the days I could just spring to my feet. It’s so shit.

More importantly my boobs aren’t where they used to be and I’m sprouting grey hairs EVERYWHERE. I don’t recognise my hands anymore and that $5000 I’ve probably spent on La Prairie over the years was a crock and didn’t work.

But the sad thing is that I can honestly say I’m only just getting warmed up in life. Isn’t it a tragedy that its taken me thirty-nine years to get to know me? To think of all the years I wasted thinking I knew it all, just cruising through life thinking there wasn’t anything more to it.

I’ve changed enormously the past couple of years. I’ve mellowed. The things that used to bother me don’t seem to as much and I’m good at talking myself out of resentments or negative thoughts.Β I think this all comes with age and maturity, which is kind of shitty because I could have done with these skills about twenty years ago, more.

And therapy, I’m a huge fan of therapy and am not ashamed to say I’ve had loads of it. We all owe it to our friends and family to have some.

I’ve learned it’s okay to say goodbye to people from your past, that we don’t have to hold on to people Β just because we’ve known them forever. People change and grow apart and life is too precious to spend time with those that don’t bring out the best in us.

I’ve learned from my mistakes and there aren’t many I haven’t made. The hardest thing was admitting them.

I’ve seen my kids copy what I do and I don’t want them having to learn things the hard way like I did. There’s so much to be said for that saying “actions speak louder than words”. I want to be a good example for my kids and above all else, I want my kids to be kind and compassionate.

So bring on forty I say, if forty means wisdom then I can live with the grey pubes.

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