Ten years ago, I was anxiously contemplating leaving behind my thirties and my ruby birthday was fast approaching. Nobody was allowed to mention the word forty, but ruby was a little easier for me to digest. Those were dark days, and the run up to February 22nd was hard for me. I worried that I would become invisible, insignificant and grow whiskers. I was mostly wrong (good old Meatloaf...). I had always thought that by 40, I would be living in a castle, with a cupboard full of tiaras and a villa in the Greek Islands.
My friends tried to convince me that it was just a number, and not a milestone at all. After weeks of self pitying morosity, but not really being able to put my finger on the root of my misery, I had a moment of clarity. The cause of my dark mood became clear - I felt that I had nothing to look forward to. All of the best things that were going to happen had already happened, and whilst I was satisfied with most of my life in general, forty was the summit, and it was downhill from thereon in. My greatest achievement, my babies, were all born and there was no chance of any more. My wedding day had been and gone, (followed by a bonus second wedding 13 years later), I was teaching, which was the only job I had ever wanted to do, and I was living in a nice house in a nice village, but it wasn't the forever home of which I had dreamt, with castellated turrets and a walled garden. These things would not have troubled me ordinarily, I was quite happy muddling along, and not feeling like anything major was missing from my life. It was just that life was meant to begin at 40. No matter what I was told, in my head, 40 was a milestone and I was far from being where I had always imagined I would be.
I tried unsuccessfully to write a list of things I had to look forward to, but I had nothing. I asked for help from my friends and family, and they all shook their heads sadly. Apart from one friend Jools, who said she would have a think, and then came back to me an hour later with a big smile. 'I've thought of something......', and she looked so hopeful that I believed her. But it was false hope - her solution was 'grandchildren'. Who wants grandchildren when their own children are only 5, 9 and 12. Bad call Jools! Although now, approaching 50, I like the idea a lot more, but would still prefer to leave it a few more years until my children are living in chateaux of their own.
What I found, was that whether I welcomed it or not, it was going to hit regardless. But its blows were lessened by celebrations with family and friends. I had a lovely party at Moulton Working Men's Club, I got a greenhouse, and went all inclusive for a week to Ayia Napa with Singapore Sally. We had a great time celebrating the onset of my forties, and I reluctantly learned to embrace them.
And as my fiftieth approaches, and I reflect on all that has happened in the past decade, I realise that 40 wasn't the summit at all. The journey has continued, and with more highs and lows than I could have imagined. In my forties, so much has changed. I have got a tattoo, a divorce, fallen in love again with the husband I divorced in 1990, remarried, gained 3 step-children, discovered that there are some dogs who don't stop me from breathing, acquired two of said dogs, travelled across the world, gained new qualifications, seen two of my children go to University, resigned from teaching and written a book. I still have the same best friends, live in the same house and probably have less money than I did ten years ago, but I am enjoying every day, and the thought of fifty does not scare me. I have a man who fell in love with me when I was in my teens at my side (and he tells me I don't look any older.... there's a lot to be said for myopia). My kids are all happy and healthy, and the usual family circus dramas aside, my life is marvellous and relatively stress free. I am hoping that my luck will continue to hold. I will continue to write, and search for an agent, and I am hopeful that 2019 will be my year.
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