I’m only 24 hours into it, but I must admit 40 is pretty darn great.

I spent the last few months anticipating this “big” birthday and used so much energy worrying about what I hadn’t accomplished or what I should have done differently.  What I hadn’t been considering were all of the amazing experiences I’ve had in these last 40 years.

I have been to distant lands.  I have met incredible people.  I have been loved.  For crying out loud, I grew two humans and brought them into this world–and they’re actually growing and thriving along with one more (maybe not always clean, but growing and thriving)!

The secret blessing in facing this milestone has been the perspective that grew out of my reflection.  It’s like it never occurred to me before now that for each negative I was focusing on, there was an opposite positive waiting patiently for my attention.

I have a sneaking suspicion there is an  angel who gave me this understanding for my birthday.  She has been on my mind quite a bit lately because of a story I recently shared.  And is if by coincidence, I received an emotionally overwhelming present from my mother today that included a token she believes that angel would want me to have.

If these are the lessons that come with age, I don’t believe I’ll ever feel old.

I didn’t have any issues with 30.  The jokes came.  I laughed at all the “you’re old” cards that were sent my way.  I had a new job, a new husband, a new place to live and a new son.

Thirty was a breeze.

I thought 40 would be the same way, but I flipped the calendar to March yesterday and HOLY CRAP.  It’s like a truck barreling at me.  I’m taking a hard look at my life.  There is much I should be grateful for.

BUT

I thought I’d be in a different place.  I thought I’d have other accomplishments under my belt.  I thought I would have learned more lessons, been more mature, become less sensitive, more self-assured.

Basically, I thought I’d have my shit together by 40.

I know I’m not supposed to compare myself to other people, but it’s hard not to sometimes.  Honestly though, it’s the comparison I make against who I thought I would be that hurts the most.

Maybe it’s being adopted.  Maybe it was growing up in a family that looked different than most at the time.  Maybe it was the strong feminist influence from my beloved aunt.  Could be a dad that picked up and walked away one day.  Whatever it was (and seriously I’ve had enough counseling to have figured this out by now) I feel like I was supposed to excel at something big–something worthwhile.

I feel like I need to prove that I am worthwhile.

Wow.  Those eleven words were really difficult to write.

Well there it is.  I’m going to be mulling that one over for a bit.

Luckily, I still have 28 more days to sort this out.