F is for Forty

I have a couple more months before turning forty. 40.  Four-Oh.  Quarenta.  Ugh.  Just looking at it sends shivers and gives me pause.  I’m somehow in disbelief at how much time has passed yet, so little have I achieved.  Well, at least by my standards.  I remember a checklist of things I should have accomplished by this age, and somehow, I am nowhere near even a fourth of its completion.  Man, all those years just sneaked up on me.

They say that age is a state of mind.  You are only as old as you feel.  I seem to have stopped counting at age 25, and continue to live my life (recklessly) as a twenty-something.  I am blessed to look younger than my age, so thankfully, I don’t have a daily reminder every time I see my reflection.  I have however, other reminders of my age.  The other day, I was asked by an audaciously brash head-hunter, what my age and gender was.  In this day and age, I reminded him those items should not be an issue, but then again, this is the Philippines.  I’ll reserve thoughts on this on another entry. I just realized when filling up a form, I now belong to a different age-bracket.(OMG! It just hit me, I am now what they call “middle-aged”.) When I logged into a new game I was trying out, I was asked my age.  And admitting to playing such a game at my age suggests that it was…unbecoming.  It seems that the older I get, the more unsavory I am for a job, a coverage or a specific service.  I now am part of a different segment, where my tastes, thoughts and proclivities are deemed no longer “new” or novel.

I guess more than turning forty, I need to get used to the concept of not being “new” and “fresh”.  Moreso, being “un-new” is not a bad thing.  Perhaps familiar and predictable are not exactly lesser, inconsequential things to be.  I guess more than accepting how you look once you’ve reached a certain age, is first accepting that there are certain things more befitting to a certain age.  For instance, to be broke, clueless, vacillating from one project/job/interest to the next, was considered “normal” and even romantic and rebellious, in your twenties.  To be so in your thirties, is deemed risque, yet bordering on a wake-up call to straighten up.  But to be so in your forties, I would think, is just darn plain unacceptable.  Or, indicates a mid-life crisis of some sort.  Thankfully, I have a couple of months left to mull over the intricacies, nuances and ramifications of being forty.

I came across this quote somewhere: “The forties are the old age of youth,and the youth of old age“. This is definitely true for me.  Hopefully, by the time I officially become “it“,  I would’ve come up with a list of things about what it’s like being forty.  Either they’re fabulous things, or effed-up things.  Until then, allow the incredulity of the whole thing to sink in.


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