When I Turned 40

When I turned 40, all of the opportunities I squandered started to become very clear. The fog began to lift long enough for the entirety of my 20's and 30's to play out before me. There they were; all of the taught skin and metabolism mixed in with the trips to England and the adventures to New Mexico I didn’t take, all the writing and photography I didn’t pursue. It was like watching the sea swallow a ship almost in slow motion, yet there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The enormity of it was too much for so long, but it's mine to bear. The ship will inevitably be taken under, never to surface again. It’s almost so poetic to watch, I couldn't turn away. Wasted youth. I recall car rides at dusk when I was 16, singing along to Pink Floyd having no fucking clue what “no one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun” truly meant. Lyrics I really had no business reciting. I was so young, worrying about things no 16 year old should be worrying about, wishing I were like my friends, but deep down knowing I never will be.

The traveling, the studying, the creative work, the young men who would undoubtedly break your little heart, all of it was inaccessible to you. It wasn’t yours to take. The crushing weight of responsibility made you get a job that stole your soul one tiny piece at a time. It made you stifle who you really were. You put her away, buried her long before it was time.

When I turned 40, I wanted to know that person. The longing for her was so deeply imbedded, I could feel her clawing her way out. I wanted her to experience all of the things she desired to experience. I wanted her to live. The ache of regret hung heavy around my neck like an anchor in stagnant water. The potential I wasted, the experiences I thought I could never truly have, for they were meant for the young, the beautiful, not for people in their 40’s. People who should have already truly lived. My dream of being a full time photographer would remain just that, a dream. A dream I would look forward to every night when it was time for bed.

Two years before I turned 40, I made a decision to change my life. I was convinced that these desires were there for a reason and I was meant to fulfill them. A 40 hour Monday through Friday just could not be what I looked forward to and it became increasingly depressing to know that was the life I made for myself. A stable job with a 401k and benefits is wonderful for some and it isn’t a criticism to say It just wasn’t what I wanted. I craved a creative life, doing work that I felt I had to do. I sold my house and moved across the country with the goal of working for myself in a creative capacity. There has been much heartache along the way and so many beautiful things. It’s been incredibly difficult, but I’m alive. I’m breathing life into the person who was hidden away. I wanted to travel, meet people, offer my art to the world, I wanted to live. And that’s exactly what I’m doing.

I was almost 40 when my heart was cracked completely open, the contents spilling out to the point of emptiness. I had never experienced pain in that way at the hands of another human. Through all of the grief, which took a long time to sort out, I learned that life is heartache, life is happiness, it’s joy, it’s annoyance, it’s love, it’s amazing meals, it’s sorrow carved so deeply into your being, it’s campfires on the beach, flowers on the kitchen table, words to songs that touch you so profoundly you almost can’t stand it. And I want every last bit of it.

When I turned 40, I realized that person in her 20’s no longer exists. She was so scared of failing, she longed for a support system so she could do all of the things in her soul that she wanted to do. The woman in her 30’s who thought she was content with settling no longer exists either. Without them, it would have been impossible for me to have the life all three of us wanted. They taught me that surviving is not living. I’m so glad I know that now.