I’ve been thinking a bit about turning 40 lately, because I just did. April 25 was my big 4-0. Since I’m a writer by trade — and writing is in my blood—it seems fitting for me to set some of my thoughts down in writing. Here we go.

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”