As in, this year. The year of me turning 40, I approached the milestone with a steady, measured approach. Such is the passage of time, if you’re lucky.
And maybe, just maybe, this age milestone would be when I finally stop caring about what people think. Which has always been a personality trait of mine. But there are signs of it waining. Just because it can be exhausting and I’m busy dedicating energy to things that actually matter.
Anyway. 40. Here I am. Rock me like a hurricane.
I remember when my dad turned 40. I could see his nervousness. Over the hill, they say. The best part of life is over, they say. Glory days gone, they say. But as I’m caring less about what people think, I’m not paying much mind to such things. I’m older for sure. But how I handle my own aging is up to me. Nobody else.
Is 40 the new 30? I don’t know. What I do know is that 40 is old. When I was in high school, it was so far away. People who were 40 seemed so distant, so out of my understanding.
Have you ever seen Gattaca? At one point, two brothers at odds are racing to the other side of a lake. The water is turbulent. It’s stormy weather. The more genetically superior brother says he’s calling it, he’s turning back. If they don’t turn around now they won’t make it back to shore because the high waves are sucking all their energy. Forget the race. But the genetically inferior brother (Ethan Hawke) refuses. How he’s gotten to this point, overcoming great odds and racing his brother who on paper should clearly win the race, is that he never saves anything for the trip back. His aim is alway the here and now, the future return be damned. And he swims on while his brother turns back.
At least, that’s how I remember it. But I don’t remember how the race was resolved, if at all. One trudged ahead, the other played it safe and returned. But what were the results?
It probably doesn’t matter.
Yes, I’m 40. Which in the grand scheme of things, probably doesn’t matter.
