Turning Forty Was Great, Actually

By Ashley Simpo

I turned 40 this month. In the days, months, and years approaching this milestone, I prepared myself to take on something heavier, something that would weigh me down. I’m so used to larger, wider, and more costly expectations coming hand-in-hand with the increase in age. What part of my life isn’t successful enough? What part of me should look better? Every decade’s transition was an invitation to step up, do more, be bigger, and make something of myself.

As I watched the digital display turn from 11:59 to midnight, I checked the mirror like I do every year to see if something was visibly different, and it was.

My shoulders felt lifted. Something had been weighing them down this whole time. Maybe it was that thing my mom laughs about when she tells me she can’t find any of the fucks she used to cling to so tightly. Maybe it’s the wisdom of understanding the cyclical nature of life. Maybe it was gratitude.

That night, a group of some of my closest friends gathered to toast my big new age. I wore an iridescent sequin dress that my friend Bria helped me source for way less than it retailed. We had champagne and dirty martinis and took photos in the mirror, then went out dancing.

It was a Friday night, and life was lifing for a lot of my friends, so a few couldn’t make it. Normally I would take cancellations as a sign that I wasn’t worthy or good enough, or that my milestone didn’t matter. But I was wrapped up in the joy of being with people I love.

The next morning, I logged onto my Zocdoc account to schedule a dentist appointment and saw my name and age:

Ashley Simpo
Age: 40

There it was. Evidence that time does indeed pass. That no matter what, you will be 40 one day if you don’t die young. The age you could once only relate to aunts and uncles and moms and dads is upon you.

I waited for that feeling I keep reading about to hit me — the one where 40 becomes a lump in my throat and I long for younger days. Nothing came then, but it came later.

When I posted a few photos of the night to my Instagram a couple of people commented things like,  “Omg 40?? I had no idea!” Someone even said they thought I was a “sage twenty-something.”

I realized that my inherent reaction to aging, which feels most real and relevant, is not what the world sees. From now on I will be measured by how close to twenty I still look. Because when women are over 40, and don’t look like what they’ve been through, we become mystic phenoms, rogue unicorns spotted in the wild. I felt it, the thing society hands you when you turn 40, and I vehemently rejected it.

I’ve become captivated by following 50+ influencers on Instagram. It feels aspirational to see women who are unjaded, who play with style and color, or who pursue lives that counter norms. It tells me that I do not actually have to change or conform to an expectation about age. I don’t have to wear muted tones and sensible shoes and have uncomplicated hair. I don’t have to marry a “safe bet” and talk about pleasure like it was something I grew out of. I could just keep on being me, but older.

Looking back on my thirties, I think a lot about what society gives you versus what you might feel. It’s a busy decade full of loss, letdowns, and realizations about what’s real and true. It’s also a decade that will ask you to conform to capitalism in a way that feels very intense.

The act of “settling down,” is closely tied to marrying a person, embarking on home ownership, having children, and taking them to Disney. And if you should choose a different path, or if your path should change unexpectedly, you will be reminded over and over again that you live an alternative life. Wow, you’re so brave. I could never do that.

The feeling I had been trying to nail down for weeks, the thing that lifted from my shoulders: It was the idea that aging is wrong. That I had fucked around and done the thing you’re not supposed to do. That aging is a failure.

My body was telling me something different. My body was celebrating a great accomplishment, a beautiful life, and all the healed wounds I had learned to nurture. Look what we’re surviving. Look what we get to remember. Look what I get to know confidently and in my bones. How could this ever be anything bad?

I planned to share a long list of all the things I’ve learned as a resource for women embarking on their thirties. But when I sat down to write it, I realized that advice about being in your thirties is pointless. Do what feels right and detach from the idea that your choices are permanent. You get to change your mind. You get to reinvent yourself. There is nothing urgent about being in your thirties.

You can choose to be as free or committed as you want. If you’re happy, don’t change a thing. If you are unhappy, change everything. But age is not a compass, it’s just a gorgeous side effect.

Originally published on The Landline