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I was an unwed mother of twin boys at 20 and spent the next 20 years focused on raising them. I married an alcoholic, worked in low paying dead end jobs, but I had tunnel vision, getting my boys to college. They were going to have all the opportunities I never had. They are in college now and at 40 so am I.

Some days I feel like I can take on the world yet other days, when the self doubt creeps in, I think who do I think I am. When Im sitting in class with 20 somethings and no one wants to converse with the”non-traditional student” I feel so insecure and out of place. Yet, learning is so incedibly exciting and my sons are very proud of me. Its a strange and exciting journey. I refuse to let self doubt and others opinions, regarding all the doors that will be closed to me because of my age, keep me from pursuing my dreams!!!
-We are not now that strength which in old days moved heaven and earth; that which we are we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield. – Alfred Lord Tennyson

Very recently, I turned 40 years old. I prefer to think of myself as a “fledgling 40″ spreading my ever so lightly dusted grey wings, maybe not soaring as high as the other chickadees but still holding my own. Gradually I am owning up to my status as a middle-aged woman. I am learning to graciously accept the “yes, mam” that have replaced the “dear” and “miss.” These days, I religiously slather on sun-screen even in the dead of winter, strap myself into a major support bra and color my hair, ever six weeks. There are some days I feel more like 80 years old with my Fibromyalgia, but I can still joke like a child, laugh at knock-knock jokes and look not too shabby with some cover-up and mascara.

Yet, the weeks, days, hours and seconds leading up to that epic birthday were not pleasant. I admit there were repeated bouts of hysteria, rants about intrusive gray hairs and more than a few tears. But I survived. It was all storm before the calm. The morning after the big day I fell into an emotionally serene cocoon – wow, I thought “I’m 40!” I was officially a “Cougar” with a license to leer at younger men! Woo Hoo. Well, maybe I would pass on the leering.

But I did feel different. I still felt a little like that naive, introverted 20 year old I will always harbor inside, but she was more like an echo. I was owning up to my life experience and felt wiser. I also felt relieved. All those years of making blind choices, learning and growing from my mistakes, going down winding paths, then finally arriving here with a sense of relief and understanding. It is not that I will never get lost again, but I am now better equipped for the journey. I have also realized that I have no regrets – every decision and action has brought me here to my family and I am blessed.

So, as I settle into this new persona, I am ready … Bring it on!

More from Elizabeth at http://www.asofawithaview.blogspot.com

Sesame Street turned 40 yesterday, the Internet turned 40 last month, Diddy and Matthew McConaughey blew out 40 candles last week…guys, I think we’re on to something here. Turning 40 is as cool as it gets.

And I see a real trend in how people are celebrating. Gone are the “over the hill” parties; today 40 year-olds look more like characters from “The Hills.”

From safaris, to surf school, to costume parties, Botox bashes, girl getaways, Vegas, and Paris, people are celebrating 40 in bigger and better ways than ever. And why not? Forty is fabulous.

With that, I recently adventured into blogland to launch My Fabulous 40th Birthday. I hope all of you 40 year-olds and almost 40 year-olds will drop by as I spend the twelve months leading up to my own 40th birthday blogging about fabulous 40th birthday ideas, real birthday celebrations, and a few musings on what it means to turn 40.

Glad to be in such good company as all of you!

http://www.myfabulous40thbirthday.blogspot.com

No regrets and the best is yet to be!! woo hoo!
I’m turning 40 tomorrow. I was married once and recently ended a 7 year relationship that did not result in marriage. I’m finishing my PhD in December of this year, I’ve traveled all over the world and so far I’ve done things that most people havn’t. I’ve loved wonderful people, I have wonderful friends and I’ve lived life on my terms. I’m looking forward to marriage and children, alot of laughter, happiness and tons of adventure to come.

At this age, I have confidence, I’ve grown into knowing who I am and I choose to call the shots on whatever adventure or whim comes my way. This is a great age, not over the hill, we still have our minds and bodies, and we can still accomplish whatever we choose to accomplish.

Carpe diem fellow soul mates. Live, love and laugh always, me

Telegraph UK: 28/05/2008

As Kylie Minogue hits the landmark birthday, Jasper Gerard offers some sage advice. ’Kylie!” exclaimed a tabloid newspaper in wonder yesterday. “STILL fabulous at 40.” Well, what did they expect, as the much-loved, heroic chanteuse hits that milestone birthday today? Blue rinse, dentures and a wicker shopping basket? And just look at the others who have turned, or will turn, 40 in 2008: Daniel Craig, Lisa Marie Presley, Céline Dion, Patricia Arquette, Will Smith and Lucy Liu, a Charlie’s Angel celebrated for tight leather hot pants that she’s unlikely to be packing away any time soon.

In fact, none of the aforementioned is an obvious candidate for middle age as we once knew it. Not so long ago, 40-year-olds were thought to be in the grave, or making impressive strides towards it.

An unmarried woman like Kylie Minogue would not have been viewed as a glamourpuss “just spinning around” but as a spinster more likely to be Zimmering around in a rather sad fashion.

Not any more. Now there are entire industries devoted to reversing Newton’s law of gravity and the pursuit of eternal youth: thanks to diet, dentistry and exercise – and, for those less blessed than Kylie, cosmetic surgery – we can now look as peachy at 40 and beyond as we did at 30.

We’re not short of role models, either, in the baby boomers (Bill Clinton, Lulu, Sir Richard Branson, Grace Jones, Harrison Ford) who are trailblazing their way to their bus passes while continuing to flaunt youthful looks, fit bodies and fulfilling sex lives.

However, while it all helps, it doesn’t entirely ease the pain of reaching your 40th birthday – and I speak from recent experience. It remains the entry point to a club that none of us really wants to join: middle age.

It was a cruel moment when I awoke and found that a thief had come in the night for the last remnant of my youth, leaving a chilling calling card: “Happy 40th!” I tried to ignore the “loved ones” who were insisting on a party.

Instead, I was hit, very powerfully, by the thought that now is the time: that while I wasn’t yet approaching the finishing line, I was certainly no longer limbering up and waiting for the starting pistol.

Despite the relentless pressures of youth culture and our reluctance to embrace maturity, I would argue that turning 40 does demand a subtle change in demeanour. My generation has explored youth to its limit and is still tempted to do a Dorian Gray, in the manner of Madonna (50 this year) or Sir Mick Jagger (65 in July).

But trying so very hard to appear youthful merely highlights how mouldy one is underneath: Madge’s hands are bonier than those of Ena Sharples, while Jagger’s hipster jeans are bordering on the obscene.

It doesn’t have to be like this. No one looks at a suave Bryan Ferry (62) or David Bowie (61) and thinks: “My God, you look decrepit.” Still less Annie Lennox (53) or Chrissie Hynde (57).

They don’t construct absurd stage sets, do the splits, or simulate some after-the-watershed activity with a backing singer. They have adapted to age with dignity and grace, without compromising their talent or their capacity for enjoying themselves.

So no matter how good she looks – and it’s a million times better than she did with a frizzy perm and dungarees on Neighbours – I’d urge Kylie to follow suit.

Although her successful fight against breast cancer has made her a national treasure here and in her native Australia, there are worrying signs that she may try to fight the inevitable. Off-stage, she is a sublime vision of sexy elegance in Chanel; but on it, in her current KYLIEX2008 tour, there is still a hint of the showgirl that, if it continues, might begin to pall.

While her derrière continues to delight, as the sun goes down on her youth might not her hemlines also head a little lower? We adore Dame Judi Dench, too, but we don’t want to be seduced by her.

And while Madame Tussaud’s boasts a Kylie waxwork, heaven forbid that the waxwork ever gets to be more mobile than her. My wife gave me a personal trainer for my 40th, but after injuring my back weeding, I’ve spent more time with my osteopath.

Just as Lucy Liu should go easy on the karate kicks and Daniel Craig might do well to wear his trunks a little baggier in forthcoming Bond films, so Kylie might slow the disco beats. Explore the ballad, look lovelorn – it’s a good excuse for soft lighting.

Forty is too late for excuses; nothing can make up for time and opportunities lost. We must acknowledge that the illusion of eternal youth that sustained us through our thirties was, well, an illusion. But we can also embrace the gains of being 40.

There are some, honest. Confidence, for example: who among us would welcome back teenage insecurities? Or even a teenage complexion? And who’s to say that the years of our greatest hits don’t lie ahead?

I am 40 and not afraid to admit it.

It must come as a huge shock that I am the big 4-0. I know, I know, I look 30 or at a stretch 35. Must be the extra-virgin olive oil diet I’ve been on since birth. And hardly a wrinkle on my soft, supple skin – it’s amazing. Pamela Airbags Anderson says 40 is the new 20 so I’d better remember to take along my ID the next time I go clubbing.

I have a friend, let’s call her Veronica, who has erased two years from her life. She’s 36 but tells people she’s 34, presumbly to make herself more appealing to men and employers. She even lied to a boyfriend about her age but her cover was blown when he stumbled across her passport and saw her date of birth. Damn that passport! Surprise, surprise: he didn’t dump her because she was 36.

Unfortunately we live in an age-obsessed society where there is a halo around 15-year-old malnourished models but lying about one’s age does not magically make the body younger. There’s no turning back the body clock. Reproductive organs do not adjust to the pretend age like computers automatically adjust to daylight savings time. If only.

It’s unfair that women feel pressured to make time stand still. As men become greyer, they’re seen as debonair counts in smoking jackets, whereas women are discarded as haggard witches. Unless you’re Helen Mirren, who looks mighty hot for 62. She’ll still look hot when she turns 63 in July.

As for the theory that women on TV get boned if they pass an expiry date, there are an abundance of vibrant, mature faces on the box to disprove this: Jo Hall, Jennifer Keyte, Tracy Grimshaw, Kim Watkins, Kerri-Anne Kennerley, Liz Hayes, Lisa Wilkinson, Caroline Jones, Kathy Bowlen, Ellen Fanning, Geraldine Doogue, Sonia Kruger, Ann Sanders, Sandra Sultry, the list goes on. Gretel Killeen used to be on TV before she was evicted from the house.

The queen of the age-deniers is Kerri-Anne, the taut-faced Channel Nine morning-show host who’s in her “mid-50s”, or according to one article I read, in her “mid-40s”. All those early starts must make the memory fuzzy. The Age Diary played pin-point the age on the Kennerley and found she was delivered by the stork in 1953, so she’ll be blowing out 55 candles this year. Will her lungs cope? Now, what’s so bad about admitting she’s 55? She’s a stayer in TV world, she scrubs up well with the help of the “work” she’s had done, and she’s at the helm of a show that brings in millions from advertising fat-busting devices. She should stand proud.

One thing I’ve noticed as my years advance is that Hollywood celebs who were much older than me when I was a youngster seem to be a similar age to me now. I’ve got older but they haven’t. Curious. Maybe they just seemed older when I gazed at them on the telly or maybe they’ve wiped off a few years so they’re more attractive to casting directors. And to prolong their shelf life in the industry. Especially for the famous, it’s futile erasing the years because there’s always the chance a school buddy will emerge and helpfully point out their real age.

I know women who despair at turning 40 because of all the self-reflection that comes with it: married vs defacto vs single, with child vs without child, intentionally barren vs unintentionally barren. Take Pamela Anderson’s approach: you’re as young as you feel, or as young as the men who feel you.

I’d much prefer to state my real age and for people to tell me I look younger (go on, I know that you want to) than to say I’m 35 and hear that I look 40. Now, that would be a waste of a fib.

—

Suzanne Carbone goes where other reporters fear to tread: the red carpet. She has perfected the art of juggling her notepad with a glass of bubbly and a canape, all the while keeping her finger on the pulse of this pulsating town. Celebs – she has met a few. David Cassidy, from the Partridge Family, once stopped a news conference at the Como Hotel to rave about her dress. She even bumped into Barry Humphries in the women’s powder room at Flemington on Derby Day. Alas, not everyone is on the A-list and not all the bubbly is French. Yes, it’s a tough job but she’s just the someone to do it.  Check out her blog at http://blogs.theage.com.au/limelight/

Barbra McDonnell
FOR THE GAZETTE

Apparently, 40 is the new 30. This makes me worry even more about turning 40, and not just for the inevitable lame jokes. If 40 now defines adulthood, I have only a short time left in which to be a kid.

Does that mean I’ll finally have to start sipping fair-trade coffee in the den, instead of Corona on the back porch? Will I have to give up my black punk-y wardrobe, for an art teacher ensemble of sensible sandals and peasant skirts?

Thirty wasn’t a good year for me, anyhow. Forty is bound to be better. At 30, I had a slummy apartment and a crappy job. Mr. Wonderful (now known as My Husband) was dragging his feet on proposing. It seemed that everyone else I knew had a real job, a spouse, two or three kids, the works. I kept praying, to God or the universe, or whomever was listening, “Puh-leeze, can I just have ‘a’ car, ‘a’ house, and be married to ‘a’ reasonably nice guy, before I get any older?”

Well, it worked. Sort of. I often joke that I should’ve been more specific. “This Old House” is far from being done, the car has over 450,000 km on it, and the husband…nah, just kidding, he is wonderful.

Since I spent my 20s dashing about from one low-paying job to another (or to two jobs, or even three, at a time), I didn’t have the resources for what people think you “should” be doing in your 20s. I’ve never been to Florida on Spring Break, or spent a summer planting trees. I’ve never hitchhiked to Vancouver, or followed the Grateful Dead around for a few months, either.

However, I had so many addresses that my friends still tease me with, “Suuure, you’ve moved for the laaast time. Let me just write your phone number down in pencil.” I also enjoyed a lot of rainy camping trips (the poor man’s vacation), met Neil Young, and was at the hospital the day my nephew was born. (The nurses almost didn’t let me on to the floor. I was covered in cat hair, from moving yet again. My aggressive kitty refused to be caged, and had spent two hours in a moving van, climbing up and down me like a jungle gym, but I was there!)

Times have changed. It used to be, back in the Dark Ages (or, “The ’80s”), that everyone left home at 18 or 19. Sure, you might come home during the summers, if you were away at college, but basically, you were out of the nest, doing your own thing. Now it seems to be OK to live at home until your late 20s, and be saving up to buy a house.

How on earth do all these (harrumph!) young whippersnappers justify this dependant behaviour?

How does one say to worn-out looking Mom and Dad, “Listen, I know I said I’d be out of here this year, but I’d really like to ummm, er, go to Cancun this winter, and, ummm, buy a new Saturn first, so…?”

If you “can’t” afford your own apartment, what kind of justification can you possibly invent for tropical vacations, or for driving a slicker ride than your parents do?

I’m sure if Andy and I approached my parents and said, “We’re tired of supporting ourselves. We’d love to move in with you guys, and spend a year making hemp bracelets to sell at concerts” my mom would have the proverbial canary.

I’m sure she’s pretty sick of all those avian births.

From me crashing my car end over end, to my brother Rory buying a motorcycle a few years ago, she’s probably exhausted. The last time she had to suffer through one was when my brother Matt fell off his skateboard, and broke his arm. When he was 31 years old. Yeah.

I have no idea how I’ll feel in a few months, when I hit 40 and am finally a real, true grown up. I doubt that I’ll give up Saturday morning cartoons, or wearing my Chucks. I certainly will not be driving a mini van, or giving serious thought to gracious forms of “retirement lifestyle living.” I just hope my laugh lines are deeper for a reason. And to paraphrase Jerry Garcia, that the inevitable “touch of grey” kind of suits me, anyway.

Barbra McDonnell is a freelance writer, and works at an agency for people living with disabilities. She and her husband reside in Kitchener. She grew up in Perth County, and graduated from Stratford Central Secondary. The month of June will see her using a fire extinguisher on an overly lit cake.