This is 39

I don’t know how it happened.  I blinked and there went my 30s. Well, most of them. As of Monday, I have one year left and then, I’ll be “a woman of a certain age.” A cougar (if I was single). A potential cast member on The Real Housewives of Arlington. I might even have to start wearing leopard print pants. How is it possible I am now celebrating the 10^th anniversary of my 29^th birthday?

My thirties have been a roller coaster. I spent my 20s “finding myself,” changing careers from pre-school teacher to communications professional and felt like I had gotten into a good grove both personally and professionally by age 30. I began my thirties as a newlywed of 7 months. I was given a promotion at work. At 32, I had my daughter and though I had a nausea-filled pregnancy, motherhood in that first year came pretty easily to me. I adored my new role. A year later, I took a package to leave the company I’d worked for over the course of six years. Not long afterwards, I lost my dad to newly diagnosed prostate cancer. Less than a year later, I had an unexpected miscarriage. And H became the poster child for the terrible twos. And my new job sucked, my bosses were unkind to me and everyone else in the office, and every day felt like the Groundhog Day version of Laura and the Terrible Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. And so, in my mid-30s, I lost my s&*t.

I became afraid of everything; losing my job, staying in my job, something happening to my health, something happening to H, driving a car, just being. I had always been a pretty easy going, go-with-the-flow kind of person. And then I wasn’t.  It took books, therapy, meditation, medication, and a lot of introspection to figure out where to go from there. I kept asking myself and my version of God (Who sometimes looks and sounds like Morgan Freeman in Bruce Almighty and sometimes sounds British like Helen Mirren on Glee) why I couldn’t go back to being “me.” Then I realized that I could never go back, nor would I want to, but I could go forward.

I began working out much more regularly. It is amazing how much exercise helps improve one’s mood. I made more of an effort to see friends and to spend quality time with my daughter. I quit my crappy job and found one with a more flexible schedule, doing work that was up my alley, with a group of people I enjoyed being around.  I became more brazen and confident and less concerned about what others think of me. I learned how to live in the moment. There’s no point in wasting energy worrying about things that may never happen or even those that DO happen because it serves no purpose. We’re all going to have struggles in our lives whether they involve the loss of a parent, dealing with Horrible Bosses, or overcoming an illness. In the meantime, there is so much joy in life that make the bad times manageable. That’s what I forgot while I was wallowing in my own misery.

I know I don’t have all the answers and I never will. I’ll continue to screw up and make bad decisions. Little black rainclouds may appear over my head without warning complete with hail and lightning but so will rainbows and laughter and chocolate chip cookie dough and cake batter ice cream with extra sprinkles. Mmmm, ice cream. 

So basically, I’m going to own 39. I will not dread 40 next year. I’ll embrace the fact that I look younger than I do, that I’ve got a great family and wonderful friends and that like a fine wine, I’ll continue to get better with age.