By Karen A. Chase

Author of Bonjour 40: A Paris travel log

(40 years. 40 days. 40 seconds)

Why is it that turning 40 is supposed to be a bad thing? I know a lot of women curl up in the fetal position over it, but for me, it was a chance to do something I’d always longed to do. Live in Paris. For a month. I’ve made choices throughout my life that made this moment possible, but what made it feasible was simply that I planned to do it. When I turned 39, I said I’d go to Paris for my fortieth, and so I spent the year preparing to accomplish just that.

I took French lessons, and studied French DVDs. I found an apartment, put together a budget, and saved for it. Every time I thought about buying a blouse, or a new pair of shoes, I thought, “that’s a day in Paris.” Or, “Why would I buy American shoes when I’m going to Paris.” When tax time rolled around I said no to investing in my IRA (Because the market stinks anyway), and invested in my L-I-F-E instead.

Cry? Moan? Whine? About turning 40? Why on earth would I do that? The other option to smile, embrace it and take a trip of a lifetime is so much more rewarding. The side benefit has been it’s helped launch a career I’ve wanted for a long time. To write. My blog, photos and trip turned into a full-fledged book. Goodbye 39. Bonjour 40! Now, I can’t wait until 50 comes along!

If you read in a book or a story that a character is middle-aged, don’t you just see the slump in his shoulders, the frown on her face?  The baggy clothes and general air of despair at the middleness of it all?  No one wants to admit to being middle-aged, and I don’t blame us—the way our culture sees it, you might as well be saying you’re old.  And the way we see “old” in our culture?  Don’t even get me started.  Because I’m not gonna want to be old when I’m old.  Oh, I’m not planning to wear short shorts at eighty.  But I refuse to have slumpy shoulders and baggy clothes and an air of despair, even when I’m old.  I’m sure as hell not going to have those things today.

Today, you see, this subject matters to me quite a bit.  Because today I am turning forty.  Not twenty-nine for the eleventh year in a row, but really and truly, right in the thick of the plot, staring at the middle of the Oreo forty.

For the past couple of years and in a variety of situations, I’ve made the following statement flirtatiously, earnestly, comfortingly, defensively.  Now I’ll make it plainly:  forty is not old.

In an effort to revamp the concept of middle age, someone came up with the sporty slogan that forty is the new twenty.  Meaning, I suppose, that forty has energy and verve.  Forty has get up and go and then get it done.  Forty might have bunions and back pain, but she’s got it goin on—she can shake it ’till the break of dawn.

Is that what he or she meant, this inventor of the sporty slogan?

I doubt it.  He or she was probably trying to sell something—the idea of eternal youth, of constant reinvention, of never needing to admit that the middle is not the beginning.  I’m not buying (or selling) that idea, not for a minute.  I’ve worked too hard for my bunions and back pain to pretend they don’t exist.

When I was twenty, or twenty-five, or thirty, and I’d reach a limit with something—my frustrations with my own limitations or the brokenness of the world or the ways in which people can hurt and disappoint one another (meaning, of course, the ways in which I had been hurt and disappointed)—my mother would say, “Wait ‘till you turn forty.”  I didn’t know what she meant by that, exactly, but she seemed to be implying that my frustration would reach a breaking point, or that I would somehow be freer, or that I would understand things better.

Now that I am forty, I think she meant all of that, and more.

Forty is the age at which, if you haven’t already done so, you get over the b.s. of it all—your own and everyone else’s.  In fact, you get over the idea that everyone and everything is supposed to be free of b.s.   You begin to accept the imperfections in yourself, others, and the world at large.

What a beautiful thing.

It is only by accepting imperfection that we can begin to improve upon it, however imperfectly.

I’m not saying that you get perfect at this—the acceptance of imperfection.  Far from it.  But you do find a way to be okay with the fact that you are not perfect at anything at all—in fact, no one you know or have ever known is.  And you know what?  Sometimes that fact is downright endearing, whether you’re dealing with yourself or a loved one or the state of the nation.  At forty, the vulnerable flesh of the world’s mistakes seems less incomprehensible and more palpable.

This, I believe, is because by the age of forty, a person has had enough experience to be able to define both joy and pain through physical and emotional memory.  Sometimes there are scars—physical ones—that you can point to and say, “This is from that time in my twenties…” and then you either tell the story or you don’t, depending on your audience.

Sometimes the scars are deeper, and invisible.  By forty, there have been things that you don’t know how to accept, and you’ve accepted them anyway.  There have been things that you don’t know how to overcome, and you’ve overcome them anyway.  That is the nature of life, and of the human spirit.  Stick around long enough—get to the middle—and you’ll find that you know more than you thought you did.  Also, you know far less than you thought you did.  You live in the middle of the contradictions, every day as you go about the tasks of living, and you carry this awareness with you in your bones, your muscles, your tear ducts, your lungs.  Things are not perfect—things will try to break you.  So far, they haven’t.  That’s more than a good thing—that’s a reason to celebrate.  That’s joy right there—being here, today.

Here.  Today.

By forty, you can measure things in hunks of years—it will take me five years to come to terms with this, you can think.  Or you might think of your children and realize that you only have a decade before they’re grown.  It is impossible to say only a decade when you are twenty.

These measurements—the increments of joy and pain, played out upon our skin and our hearts—these are the marks of age and experience.   They will claim you sometimes, and you will claim them sometimes.

I’ll admit, there are things about forty—about aging—that aren’t my favorite.  The bunions and the backaches are no day at the park.  And it will be quite some time before I’m ready for my hair to be all silver gray and dignified, no matter what my hair has to say on the matter.  (Though I will keep my wrinkles, every one of them, as they appear.)  There are days—sometimes many of them in a row, so many they add up to weeks—when the palpable quality of the world’s mistakes, and my own, becomes too familiar, too constant.  There are days when I wish for the just-washed, baby blue faith of a morning in my twenties.

I might say it plainly or with resignation or ten other ways on ten different days, but I’m bound to say it now and then:  forty isn’t young.

So today, I want to give myself—and anyone else who’s turning forty, about to turn forty, recently turned forty, will someday turn forty, or turned forty a while ago and is now contemplating a new milestone—the gift of redefining the middle as not the beginning, not almost the end, but the bona fide, honest to goodness, smack in the middle middle.  In fact, I’d be happy if we could redefine chronological age as a number and not a state of being.

Sometime between today and the day I let my hair go silver gray, I plan to master yoga.  This is because the yogis say that the secret to youth is a flexible spine.  They believe that a well-cared for body and soul holds chronological age more fluidly than a body that is not stretched, exercised, rested, and connected to peace.  And I think they’re right.

As I journey toward an age that is no longer in the middle, I intend to seek a state of being that not only accepts age, but celebrates it.   As long as age doesn’t have to include slumpy shoulders, an air of despair, and throwing out half a perfectly good cookie, I’m on board.

Who’s with me?

Turning 40 is a milestone in a person’s life, but here is what can make it a traumatic event. Our society has an unwritten handbook of rules. There are certain things we should have achieved by the time we reach a certain age, and if just one or two of those things are missing, we tend to feel like a failure. It’s a set of rules most of us seem to be affected by, whether we realize it or not. I am the first to admit there are things I have yet to accomplish, things I thought would be in place by this age. However, life doesn’t always line up with what you expect it to be.

I spent two days celebrating entering my 40s. The night before, I went to see Bon Jovi in concert for the second time. The next day, I bought a german chocolate cake. The day felt like being on a long rollercoaster ride. I was thankful, sad, confused.. wondering what to do next, where to go with my life. I walked around in a fog, and the overcast skies didn’t help very much.

The good thing is there is still time to do the things I want to do, to get the life I’d like to have. Not that my life is so bad now. It just feels somewhat incomplete. The thing to do is take this time, and use it to the fullest, to make it productive. You are never too old to dream, to see those dreams turn into reality, and come true. This has become my focus. Being in your 40s is far from the end. It’s a turning of the page.

Once I stopped feeling blue and in a funky daze, the sun began to come out. Happy B-day to me.

More from Kelli

Turning 40 isn’t all that different from turning 39 or 38. Ever since turning 35, I’ve been closer to 40 than 30, so I’ve more or less considered myself as much “about 40” as “in my thirties.” That’s not to say that I feel older after crossing into the forth decade. Some say that 40 is the new 30, and in some ways I think that’s true. Turning 40 is considered a milestone, a crossing over into a new chapter of life. But only if you frame it that way. After all, it’s only a number and you’re only as old as you feel. (Are clichés a sign of advanced age?)

I do notice some of the signs of age: more aches and pains than ten years ago. Less patience with rude people or annoying situations. More tolerance of those who care and try. I feel muscles and joints I never knew existed before. My father-in-law used to say that if you’re over 30 and you wake up and nothing hurts, that means you’re dead. For me, that seems to be the case at 30. (Again, 40 is the new 30.)

I also find that my memory has become more dependent on Google and the Droid. It’s not so much that I can’t remember things, but that it’s faster to search cyberspace than the crevices of my own mind.

But those pains and shorter fuses and slowing memories are not the result of turning 40. They were set years ago and have gradually grown to what they are now, and will continue to grow. After all, it’s only a number and you’re only as old as you feel. (Are clichés a sign of advanced age?)

A number of friends have shared quotes and jokes about turning 40. Schopenhauer said, “The first forty years of life give us the text, the next thirty supply the commentary on it.”

Eli Cass said, “Middle age is when a guy keeps turning off lights for economical rather than romantic reasons.”

Benjamin Franklin, who has something to say about everything, said “At twenty years of age, the will reigns; at thirty the wit; at forty the judgment.” Ann Landers wrote, “At age 20, we worry about what others think of us. At 40, we don’t care what they think of us. At 60, we discover they haven’t been thinking of us at all.”

Those last couple quotes (20-40-60) bring about one startling thought that has been haunting me a bit. Now, at 40, I’m just as close to 60 as I am to 20. And getting closer every day. That’s an odd thought. Even though I look at kids in their 20s and see them as “youngsters,” when I think of myself at 20, it doesn’t seem all that far away. I feel closer to 20 than 60. I never was very good at math.

Another interesting reflection: how the decades shift in one’s mind. I lived through the 80s and 90s and remember a time when the 60s and 70s seemed uncool. Now, the normal 90s seem like the most embarrassing decade of all. Those other decades are the “normal” ones. That will change, I’m sure. Soon we’ll be seeing skinny ties, block Afros, and tall, gelled spike hairstyles again. Where are my old silk shirts?

As it turns out, 40 is more of a sounding board than a milestone. A time to reflect on what has passed and evaluate what is to come. So now for a little of that.

I’m in a good place, at 40. Perhaps this is the best time in history to be 40. Technology is advance, knowledge is accessible, medicine keeps us younger than the generations before us. I have instant access to friends, information, music, art, literature, history, you name it — across the globe. But we’re not cyborgs just yet; we don’t plug in to our smart phones directly. I’m not rich, but I live a rich life — richer, in many ways, than the royalty of a hundred years ago. Our lives today are full of conveniences, comforts, variety.

I feel like I’m personally a very fortunate 40-year-old. I still have almost all of the family I grew up with — both parents, three grandparents, all of my aunts and uncles, my brother. I have a family of my own: a wife of 17 years and two children, one six and the other becoming a teenager just a couple weeks ago. I’m still in touch with friends I’ve known for most of my life, and have made new ones in recent years. I’m doing what I always wanted to do: I write for a living as much as I live for writing.

Not to mention that it is now, in my 40th year, that I’m attaining my lifelong goal of becoming a published novelist. Tracks, my novel in stories, is being published by Atticus Books June 30 of this year. You can learn more about it at www.TracksNovel.com

No, it’s not all roses. In that alternate universe where everything went as planned, I’ve been churning out critically-acclaimed novels every other year fresh out of college, spending nine months of each year living in exotic new locals as research for new novels, focused more on fun than finances.

But all in all, the view is good from 40. And the future looks even better.

Now that I’ve crossed the tracks into a new decade, 40 seems more of the end of the beginning than the beginning of the end. That’s a good thing. Everything so far has been prologue. Life begins at 40. (Are clichés a sign of advanced age?) At least I’m not yet repeating myself.

Autumn has always been my favorite time of year, and it’s still spring. I’ll close with a verse from “Men at 40,” a poem by Donald Justice.

“Men at forty
Learn to close softly
The doors to rooms they will not be
Coming back to”

One thing I forgot to tell you about is something I announced at my birthday dinner back in October: my theme for my forties. That’s right, this next decade of mine is going to have a theme. And it is…CONNECTION.

I started thinking about it last spring, when the word “connection” seemed to be in front of me wherever I went. At my job at a media company, we questioned who was king these days – was it content? Consumers? Or maybe it was all about connection. On Facebook, I was making new connections daily. My youngest listened to “Barbie’s Diamond Castle” song “Connected” over and over. Two friends who tried online dating services seemed to be making connections that were going to go the distance (two weddings to go to this summer!) And one day, when I wandered into an old church down in the financial district, I found a piece of paper in the back of the pew – it was called a “connection card.”

As human beings we seem to long to connect — with friends, with job contacts, with pets, with a soulmate, with God. You hear about the importance of touch in human development – that babies who live in orphanages with bottles propped in the crib rails and no one to cradle them experience a host of psychological consequences. We need to connect physically – a hug, a pat on the head, a kiss — but we long for emotional connection too.

As I enter my fifth decade, I’m craving connection. I don’t know about you, but over the past decade, I’ve been so busy – ya’know, creating life and all, changing diapers, getting kids into school, traveling for work, buying Ikea furniture, cursing broken Ikea furniture, helping with homework, selling a home, buying a home, moving, going to dentist appointments that beget more dentist appointments (admitting that I don’t floss my kids’ teeth – I can barely get to my own), going to meeting after meeting, rushing to school, etc. — that there really hasn’t been a lot of time leftover for nurturing relationships.

What I really miss is the presence of female friends.

Gone are the days of the best friend that I met on my bike at the corner, and played with all day, and stayed for dinner, and begged our moms for a sleepover.

There’s no girl next-door to string a tin can across the driveway and see if it really works as a telephone…eventually just talking loud enough to span the twelve feet of gravel in between.

There are no college roommates – five girls and five closets full of clothes in one house — ready with a shoulder to cry on and a pint of ice cream or a bottle of Jim Beam, whichever the occasion warrants.

I know my friends are out there – I’ve recently emailed or talked on the phone with all three camps above: the play-all-day friend, the girl-next-door, the college roommates. And I’ve been fortunate to make new friends along the way. But still…

I feel lonely sometimes.

Everybody’s still there. And more have popped up. At school. At work. In the neighborhood. And it’s nice knowing they’re there – but it’s kind of like it’s nice knowing New York City is there when you live in the suburbs and rarely make the trek in.

I want to do more than have friends, I want to be a friend. I want to enjoy wine together, bond over chaperoning kids’ activities, laugh at the absurdities of life, help each other out, hang out in a house not fit for company, and generally be there in good times and bad.

Connection.

More from Kris

However, on my birthday, I started to do Pilates. I will buy Sprinkles cupcakes and a huge Crumbs cupcake later on, lol. My 20s were absolutely horrible (abusive relationships, not having a clue of who I was or who I wanted to be, bringing losers into my life that were not worth anything, wasting my time, and playing games), my 30s were great (traveling, finally meeting inspirational individuals), and now I am looking forward to finding out how my 40s are going to be. I notice that I don’t care what others think of me.

I still look fantastic, my mind is still active, and I want to obtain as much knowledge as possible. I still do not want drama or BS in my life. I am too busy trying to make more of my dreams come true. I want to move to another country and engulf myself in that culture. I am working on my PhD in Public Health-Epidemiology.

I have never been married and I am fine with that. If it happens, great. If it doesn’t, no worries, I love my freedom. I have one child and I had him when I was 17. I had no self-esteem, no self-respect, and no self-worth back then. But now I am swimming in all three. I am determined to make my 40s count, to continue living without drama, to find happiness within myself, and to find inspiration in myself and others. I do not have what I want yet, but I am working on it.

I stumbled across this site as I searched for great ideas of what I how I should be celebrating this milestone. I decided the first thing to do is to declare myself free of the past and say goodbye to my old skin and all the heartache it clung to while I waited for the ex-boyfriend to get his *bleep* together so we could spend the rest of our lives together. He gave up and eventually moved away, marrying someone else he only knew for a month. At 39, I also have decided to stop investing myself into a job that yields zero return and totally sucks the life out of me. Its time the means starts connecting with the end.

So that felt good. Now to put it all into action. Happy Birthday to me.

Hard to think of 40 as old while in my mind I am still 20…well, ok…maybe 30. Even though I never thought it would “hit” me since I’ve never been one to define anyone by age, I have to admit it is having a slight emotional effect. Not that I think I’m going to turn gray and wither to a stump on October 1st…but maybe this is just a time to reflect and re-evaluate what I want to do with “tomorrow”.

First on my list is maintain my good relationships, that I am so thankful for. Second is to carry on with my music dreams, because without those we do wither. Not let people tell me that I’m too old to have a music dream – I’m going to continue to think age is facade slapped on us merely by society and not by anything that should really matter. There will always be someone out there saying that what people think matters…but what is most important is what you think.

Goals are what makes humans incredible – why let some societal myth squelch my actions? Nope, ain’t gonna do it. Gonna make another CD no matter what they say. I love doing it and it makes me happy – and I get to make other people happy with music – what could be better?!?!

Rock on, baby, and let the good times roll.

Here Kai’s music at http://www.wolvesatthedoor.net/

I am turning 40 on Saturday September 11, and after 40 years on this earth I believe I have had a great run, In the 80’s I had all the fun the a child of the 80’s could have. In the 90’s I spent some time in the NAVY and lived the life of a hippie/grungy kind of guy in Chicago. In the 2000’s I decided to give the professional life a try I did the 9 to 5 strait lace office work for about 13 years, (and got sick and tired of it) and about 2 years I decided to change careers and try something I always wanted.

I have to say being 40 have given me a new focus and peace that I did not have 20 years ago and it seems No matter what I do life keeps getting better, like a pinball machine life keeps giving me extra points!

Know I find myself happy in a relationship in a different par of the world, and even thought some people will think that I am a little late in the game to start a family I find myself feeling stronger and better than 20 years ago.

I guess it is true the 40’s is the new 20’s.

http://itcordis.com

I’ve learned that looking back on your past when “things were good”, is OK for a smile, but it is also dangerous when you asking yourself “Am I living a fulfilling life [now!]? I use the word dangerous because of my own experience. Looking back at the past can hinder making the move towards creating a more fulfilling life for one’s self NOW. It can be easy getting caught up in the “I’ve lived the best days; its just maintenance from here.”

For the career person: My career is a critical part of my life. I’m proud of my experience, my accomplishment and my gain of respect of my peers. If you’re obsessed with the importance of your career like I am then perhaps you’ve thought this question to ask yourself “Do I feel as accomplished in my personal life as I do with my career?” Big question; the answer tells a lot about your current emotional state.

Turning 40 yrs old certainly did one thing: It made me think. And to quote Jack Handy from Saturday Night Live “And thats..OK.” But it’s what I do that makes the difference. Pushing through the aches and pains, getting proper exercise, eating a good diet, stretching the parts of my body that stress affects, and appreciating the moments when “things ARE good.”; not when they WERE good.

My Mother, with whom I have a great friendship, recently told me “Erik, this is a very exciting moment in your life.” This was very comforting to me and with all of that said:

1) 40 means you have the experience now and wisdom to do what is healthy; what is right. But more importantly it means, you have the experience and wisdom to avoid what is not healthy; avoiding what you know is just not a good idea.

2) You can jump in and take action anytime. Just hurry up and do it! Get yourself to the gym, even if it sucks starting over again, teach a class at the Library, take a class and the local community college, finally get yourself to yoga after all of your friends have been telling you “You’d love it, I can’t believe you are not doing it, yet.”

3) 40 means things that are no longer a choice: you need to take care of yourself, stretch, make sure to get your heart rate up (there are plenty of workout machines that are very low impact but can still help get your heart rate up), take walks, run (if the pain in your knees isn’t too bad 8^D)…finally, exercise your brain and not just the exterior of you body.

Be good to you. Obviously turning 40 is significant part of life; there is website dedicated to it and if one thing is true – you are reading this – which probably means you looked for something similar to how you are feeling about turning 40.

Erik

Growing up (and eventually growing older) has quite a few advantages in my opinion. When I turned 20, I didn’t know anything about life and I didn’t care. The world was completely open and out there for me to discover. Over the next 10 years I figured things out and found myself, including by moving to another continent and sticking to a job I would enjoy long-term. By the time I turned 30, I felt like I finally graduated to adulthood, and it was a cool place to be. Another 10 years have gone by and at 40, I feel like I have proven myself to other people (I have a career and I can handle two kids, well, most of the time) and now I’d like to prove to myself that I can develop some other talents and interests. Which talents, I’m not sure yet, but that’s what makes life interesting every day.

And yes, my “40 and fabulous” T-shirt from Cafe Press is in the mail, and I can’t wait to wear it! To all moms out there 40 and over, carpe diem! As KebMo says it so well, “life is beautiful, life is wondrous…”

http://perfectingmotherhood.wordpress.com/2010/06/29/today-is-the-big-40-birthday/

http://susannah-myfortiethyear.blogspot.com/

Susannah

Turning 40 for a woman is kind of like taking ownership of a souped up sports car. You have the keys, you know how to drive it, but where are you going to go? Linda Franklin shows the way. This essential guide is all about women taking ownership of the power that comes of a lifetime of experience. Linda covers topics such as relationships, work and finances and shows how to create the life you want with effective, meaningful strategies. Reading this book felt like a celebration–the author lets us know that it’s high time women of a certain age have fun and not be afraid or ashamed to do so. Thank you Linda!

A Real Cougar is a woman who:

• isn’t afraid to knock down walls and crash through glass ceilings.
• adores men but refuses to be defined by the age of the man she chooses to be with.
• has gotten over listening to what other people think.
• knows how to keep her body healthy, her beauty radiant and her spiritual reservoir full.
• puts financial freedom high on her priority list.

You should read this book if you are a woman who:

• is tired of labels and does not want to be defined by her age.
• wants to live life to the fullest with no regrets.
• refuses to pack up her sexuality and toss it into the closet.
• is determined to break through barriers that have held you back in the past.
• realizes aging is inevitable but how you age is always your choice.

The journey that I am on is not one of regression but one of preparation. I want to be the best 40 I can be. I believe that in wanting to remain in our youth we deny the experiences that life has given us.

I may fear the passing of time because it brings with it questions regarding my future but I also celebrate it because I am wiser, stronger and prepared to face that unknown due to the experiences I have had. When the moment comes, I will march bravely into a new day and with my head held high I will turn and blow a kiss goodbye to 10 years of a life well-lived.

via  Forty Fit and Fabulous

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

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

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?

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/

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.

Amber is a communications consultant/small business owner, US Air Force Reserve officer and suburban zoo keeper (read: wife and mother) based in Arizona. She can usually be found with her trusty sidekick, a Golden Retriever named Zoë. Her blog, Blue Mango,  journals her creative inspirations and personal expressions.

Turning twenty was wonderful; I was no longer a teenager. Thirty seemed as if the beginning of life had come, and perhaps I’d finally gain the respect of my older peers (yeah right, like that’s ever going to happen). So what is the matter with turning forty? For me, absolutely nothing. I celebrate it. It means I’ve survived another milestone.

There was a time in my life when I didn’t think I’d make it to my next birthday. When the physical body wears thin it really makes your world and focus shrink down to what is truly important. During that time, life for me was about reaching that next milestone to ensure I’d be here for my son. He became my driving life-force to do everything possible to live another day, week, month, and year.

Life has such meaning and purpose to me each and every day. I no longer struggle just to survive; now I thrive. It is a precious gift to be given a second chance.

It also means I’m moving forward. So forty, come on down!

From The Chatter’s Block

Ever since adopting and actually following my “letting go” attitude, everything has been so peaceful and easy for me.  Roxy (my vintage ’63 convertible Mercury Comet) is getting fixed up, my book and stand up comedy show are flowing, and I’ve been pleasantly surprised by how much I’m enjoying being back at school after a year and a half leave.

I’ve had the pleasure of getting to sub in several grade levels (3 last week alone), and I have been reminded of why I went into teaching in the first place.  I simply love working with kids.   I love captivating them by using an accent when I read a story and having them believe I actually am that character.  I love having them suddenly get what I’m teaching because out of nowhere I try a different approach that happens to make sense to them.  And I love having random parents come up to me on campus and ask, “Are you Mrs. Aubert?  You were in my son’s second grade class last week, and he loved you!”

On Wednesday, I overheard a first grader telling her friend as I walked to the staffroom at recess, “Ooh!  Lucky!  You have the best substitute today!”

I just smiled and thought, “Oh my God.  This is why I went into teaching.”

Trust me.  I’m completely surprised by this revelation.  And don’t get me wrong.  I am absolutely still following my writing and performance dreams with a vengeance.  But I am finding it quite easy to marry that passion with my passion for working with kids.

When I started my charity to keep the arts alive in schools, I had no idea that would mean me fighting to create a position in middle school drama to utilize my own charity.  I figured I would be running the charity and doling out money to schools that needed it.  But I now know that I want to be one of the drama departments asking for contributions!

I’m always looking for signs that validate where I am on my life’s journey.  Yesterday one showed up that couldn’t have been more obvious if it were flashing neon and had an arrow pointing right to me.

I was thinking about next year and what I’d be doing.  I had seen the superintendent of our schools at a little concert the kids gave on Thursday night and asked him if he’d received my intent to return letter.  He had, but said he couldn’t tell me anything about a specific position until later on.  No worries.  I just wanted to make sure the letter had been received.  But it got me thinking about my credential and wondering when I needed to renew it.

Um…it expires in October of this year.

I thought to myself, “Oh boy.  This may be a stumbling block,” because you have to have 150 hours to renew your credential.  Now, before I took my leave I made sure I had more than enough hours to renew, but it’s still a bit of a pain to get it all documented and signed off.  I figured if somehow it were really difficult to renew, maybe the Universe would be telling me something.

Anyhow, I called a girlfriend of mine just to chat and mentioned that I needed to renew my credential.  She said she had to renew hers this year, too.

But she went on to say that the state has updated the way you go about that, and it was all done online now.  I was thrilled!

When we hung up, I immediately got on line, punched in my social security number and birthday, and voila!  There I was.  Within moments I had verified all my info, paid the fee, and had a confirmation number in my hot little hands.

Professional clear credential officially renewed.

Definitely a sign that I am on the right path.

Another sign?  Right after that I opened my book Word document and cranked out several pages of writing.  It just flowed right out of my brain and into the keyboard.  It was easy.

I think that’s the key.  When things come easily, they are definitely meant to be.  If it’s a struggle and you’ve done everything you can to make it happen, you need to let go so it can unfold organically instead of being forced.  It’s taken me a long time to figure that out.  But when I just let go, it always works out in the way that it should, whether I understand it or not.

Back to the birthday.  I had been trying to book this particular venue for months now, and the woman just wouldn’t get back to me.  Finally I called the lead singer of the band I hired and asked if he had any suggestions.  He gave me the name of a place nearby, and the hubby, the kids and I checked it out.  I called the number, spoke with the girl in charge, and had the place booked within minutes.

Easy.

So, am I worried about turning 40 in a few months?  Not a chance.

Anytime I can celebrate a milestone with an 80s themed party complete with “Pretty in Pink” Cosmos and “Long Duk Dong” Lemondrops…I know I’m on the right path!

Written by Mel Aubert – find out more about Mel at  www.melaubert.com

My big four-oh has come and gone. And to tell you the truth, I was so busy and had such a great party, I haven’t really given the milestone itself much thought. This ‘coming of age’ certainly hasn’t depressed me. In fact I think I found turning 30 much more difficult.

At 30 there was a long mental list of things yet to be achieved. Get married, have a child, improve career, get fit, get finances in order. Now I’m not sure whether I’ve achieved all these things or whether it’s simply that I care less about achieving them.
I have certainly gotten married and had a child. Two big ticks there. Whether or not I’ve improved the career is questionable. It’s waxed and waned courtesy of the second tick. Career is certainly less important to me than it was a decade ago.

I did get fit. In fact following my 30th birthday I launched into a swimming career with gusto that culminated in me competing internationally at age 34. But like the career, the fitness levels have also waxed and waned courtesy again of that second tick.
I haven’t really got my finances in order but I certainly seem to have more financial freedom. During my twenties my pay was spent before I earned it. Now I think at least my debts are under control and I can afford to eat dinner!

So a few things have changed, but mostly they haven’t. Many of my similarly aged friends have remarked to me that while physically they feel a little different (!!), mentally they are just the same as they have always been. To think that when I looked once looked at 40 year olds and saw an old person, I was just looking at a 20 year old with drooping arms!

I used to think that turning 30 was the end of childhood but now that I am 40 I know that childhood never ends. We just get taller and flabbier and are forced to act more responsibly sometimes. But underneath it all we’re just as silly as we always were. (And if you don’t believe that you should have been at my party at 4.30am the morning after.)

One of the many lovely friends who came to wish me happy birthday (and one in the post-40 category), wrote, “It just gets better!” on my card. And I must say I believe her.

Ironically there is a confidence that only getting older gives you. Along with the back and neck aches, the veins on the legs, the grey hairs and the loss of a waist, there’s definitely more of a “take me as I am” feeling. Which is just as well, because there is only so much you can do about the effects of ageing.

The most comforting thing is that you are not alone. I have friends I’ve known since we were four and guess what … they’re now 40 too! And they really are pretty much the same. So I would say to anyone worrying about turning 40, get over it. It only gets better!