I started a birthday challenge before I turned 40 years old.
Every day, I wrote a blog post from February 29 to until my mid-April milestone.
The big 4-0.
Even while staying in the Epilepsy Monitoring Unit, I wrote about life and shared knowledge. At thirty-nine, I thought I had everything figured out with four decades of life under my belt.
Which is impossible, considering half of those decades were spent in elementary, high school, and college.
No one has all the answers.
Looking back though, I don’t want to 40-year-old me and say, “Girl, you messed up.” Because, I didn’t mess up. I lived. I learned. Some people weren’t happy with my choices. I’m not happy with some of the choices or stuff that girl made, but here we are.
That girl made those choices because she didn’t know there was another way to go about life. Or she thought she was right. Sometimes you have to make the mistake to learn the lesson.
This isn’t me saying, “Boy, am I glad I’m perfect now.” I’ll never be person, and no one should think they’re perfect because there isn’t such a think as perfect. If you can show me a handful of “perfect,” I’ll show you a flying giraffe with a short neck.
My early-40s weren’t great. I was lost without a compass or support. My mid-40s, those were sweet. That was my time. If was also in a pandemic, and no one could leave their homes though. Inching into my late-40s? Loved 47, loathed 48, and loved 49. For awhile. Because I realized this was my last year of my forties. I’m letting go of them. When I see a casting call for a 35 – 45 year old actor, I’m on the fence. Do I apply, can I pass for 45?
What does it mean to be 50?
I’ll be in a different age bracket. I don’t have a uterus, and I don’t know if I’m in menopause or stuck in perimenopause. No hot flashes, I heard there’s more than just hot flashes. Then the 50+ poo-test, the boob squish. I don’t have anything to squish, wish me luck on this one.
I experienced a great deal in my forties. I lost more people to illnesses. Cried and laughed more than any other decade, which is funny because I was alone more than any other decade. I learned to appreciate the little joys in life. Like a decaf latte made with almond milk. I’m doing what I want to do, or trying at least, and I’m tuning out the enviable judgmen.
Judgment will kills dreams. Life isn’t a trial run. You’re living your life for you. Not your neighbours, friends, or family. Don’t worry about public perception or care what others think. If people want to judge, let them.
When I worked as a reporter in Edmonton, I interviewed Olympic figure skater, Toller Cranston. He spoke for 45 minutes. The second the camera was off he said, “You see, the greatest thing about getting older is you stop giving a f**k about what other people think.”
At the time, I was 36. I couldn’t imagine not caring about what other people thought.
But why should we shackle ourselves to other people’s opinions. Why let people impact you to the point where you spend years making them happy, meanwhile, you’re miserable.
I stopped writing blog posts because I was afraid of offending people. Then I realized, who cares. It’s a blog. Who cares about a blogger in a miniscule slice of the blog-o-sphere when there are real issues to deal with such as fixing health care, homelessness, and the wars in Iran, the Ukraine, and others.
Your happiness comes first. As The Tragically Hip sang, “No dress rehearsal, this is our life.”
Hello, wake up almost 50-year-old Tammy. Because a new chapter isn’t unfolding soon – that happened when you were born.
I just keep finding a different way to steam out the wrinkles.
Tammy W. Karatchuk 