I’m 40 And I Want To Be A Writer
I’m not too old, am I?
Last week I took my kids to a park to meet up with my friends and their kids. We began reminiscing about the good old days when we used to stay out all night and have the most awesome sleep-ins the next morning. But now that lazy Sunday morning stuff is a thing of the past, thanks to our toddlers and their pre-sunrise wake-up schedules.
One of my friends piped up, “Well, you know, we’re middle-aged now and our bodies can’t handle late nights like they used to.”
At first, I wanted to tell her that I’m not middle-aged. I’m only 40! Then I stopped to think about what being 40 really means.
Based on an Australian government study of mortality rates, females can expect to live to around 85 years old (or 87 in Japan!)
At first, that sounds awesome. But then when you think back to the whole middle-aged thing, it means a whole lot of un-awesomeness. If I’m expected to live until I’m 85 years old, (that’s if I’m statistically lucky) then I really am middle-aged. I’ve already lived half my life! Seriously, where did it go?
It took a blink of an eye to reach 40. Will it only take another blink to get to 80? Based on that sobering statistic, I’ve decided to do all the things I’ve dreamt about, but never actually followed through with.
