April 01, 2017



Today I'm 40.

And I feel just as I did yesterday at 39! 

But I also feel as though we as a society have been conditioned to believe that when the clock strikes 12:01 a.m. on your 40th, everything will change.

And as hard as I try, I just don't see it.

I remember once upon a time, I thought 40 was, well, old. That 40 year-olds eat differently and listen to different music. That they look different (whatever the hell it means to "look 40") and that they basically live differently.

But there was one thing I had been quite eager to experience.

You hear all the time about how when women turn 40, they instantly become more confident. More secure in their skin. And much less conscious of other's expectations of them.

Man, that sounds divine, my younger self used to think. 

Well, my friends, I'm glad to report that that much is true.

I feel like Carrie Bradshaw when she discovered that Manolo Blahnik Mary Janes do indeed exist, and that they're not just some urban shoe myth.

I am more confident, I am more secure in my skin. And my expectations of myself are the only ones that matter.

But I don't credit today's birthday for that.

The process was gradual. 

It came when I decided I was worthy of a solid, functioning, love-filled relationship.

It came from honoring what felt like a primal calling to leave a job I was unhappy at and instead choosing to pursue my passion of becoming a writer and yoga instructor. 

And it came from birthing two healthy, beautiful, bouncing babies, both of whom I had during my mid-30s.

Want proof of that confidence?

Today, after breakfast, I experienced something I hadn't in all my 40 years: 

I was genuinely thrilled to get a haircut. 

If you're thinking that the above shouldn't have been a big deal, you're right.

It shouldn't have been.

But when you've spent the first 38 years of your life believing that your near waist-length hair possessed super powers -- particularly after you've subjected it to 450 degrees to make it bone straight -- getting a haircut -- and wearing your hair in its natural, curly state -- is like choosing to swallow cyanide. (Suffice it to say, I had issues. It's a rather complicated story, which you can catch up on here.)

But now I love my shorter, curly hair. (It's that whole comfortable-in-your-skin thing.)

Here I am at the salon earlier today with my hair stylist, Melissa, whom I affectionately refer to as my Fairy Curl Mother:

And then I came home to this:

And I put a hurtin' on that sucker with my lovable fam:

Sorry the pic is blurry. When I looked in the viewfinder, I could have sworn it was clear. But, then again, I was on my second (large) glass of rosé...

So, yeah, I feel extremely blessed and very grateful.

Hello, 40, I'm so pleased to meet you!

I'm truly excited to see what you have in store.

Life is good. ✌️ 🎂 😊 ❤️ 

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