And so it was, about a week ago, that I passed the “big” four zero. Birthdays that end in zero are often heralded as significant milestones, to be held up for scrutiny and reflection (I guess it really is the person that is held up for those, not the number or day itself). I dunno where most draw the line these days, but there’s a whack of connotation for “over the hill” that hangs off a fortieth birthday as well. I’ve had a few people ask or insinuate about it, and, truth be told, that has gotten me to ponder it somewhat.
And what I discovered… well… is that it is no real big hoopla for me. I don’t even feel like I’m thirty yet, let alone forty. I have no experience of anything especially all that different. Life for me continues to get more and more alive, and I’ve got a strong case of the ‘5-year-old-child’ disease: I don’t want to go to bed at night, and I pop out of bed in the morning, revvin’ to go. There are things I’ve yet to accomplish that I want. There are things I’ve completed and am chuffed about. There are new things that I’m excited to take on and that scare me a bit. There are old things that I keep working away at. There are body changes, especially with my gluten/thyroid thing, and I did Tough Mudder this year and I keep rocking the kung fu. There are areas I love as much as I ever have, and there are areas that are less interesting to me today. There are areas into which I want to grow. There are areas that I want to transform. I feel I am more alive to life now than I’ve ever been, and I’m letting myself be alive, and expand. Things are cool.
I for one welcome the hill. Let’s ride!