"You're in Your 40's Now. How is it?"

When a Stranger Asks a Loaded Question

It was 8:30 a.m. on a Monday, and I was standing at the front desk of a lab, checking in for bloodwork. The receptionist, behind a glass partition and wearing a mask, asked for my date of birth. I gave it to her.

“Oh! You’re in your forties now! How is it?” she asked, her voice friendly and genuinely curious.

I couldn’t see her face, but based on her voice and energy, I’d guess she was somewhere between 25 and 35. And I was stumped. How do you answer a question like that in a sentence or two, standing in a lab on a Monday morning?

I didn’t want to give the default “It’s good!” small talk response. Because the truth is—it’s complicated.

If she could have read my thoughts, she would’ve heard an internal debate along the lines of: 

Standing in line at a hospital in my sneakers and athleisure to get lab work is definitely something I’m doing way more often now that I’m in my forties. Chalk that one up in the “con” column.

But there’s also a lot to love about this phase. I feel more grounded in who I am and what I bring to the table (and what I don’t). I’ve let go of a lot of the people-pleasing tendencies that steered so many of my decisions in my twenties. I know what’s mine to carry and what belongs to other people. I can (more often) say no without guilt. There’s a hard-earned confidence that comes from living some life. These are all definite pluses. 

But my skin is starting to show all those years I skipped sunscreen. Big minus.

In the moment, I ended up replying to her question with something along the lines of:   “You know. Pros and cons.”

Which sums up most of life, doesn’t it? Every age, every phase, has its own brand of misery and magic. Some years are more memorable than others, for better or worse—but they’re all layered, and they’re all fleeting.

When I wrote my novel Annie in Retrospect, I wanted to explore that tension—the way we often romanticize the past and future, too often missing what’s good about the moment we’re in while we’re in it. 

My main character, Annie, idealizes her future when she’s 25, imagining her life will look a certain way by the time she’s “grown up,” but the truth ends up being messier and more beautiful than she imagined.

I used to believe that by the time I hit forty, I’d have it all figured out. And in a lot of ways, I do feel more settled and secure. But I also didn’t understand, back then, that comfort often comes bundled with responsibility and routine. That mystery and possibility are replaced by schedules and monotony.  

Now that I’m here, I sometimes miss the unknowns of my twenties. The sense that anything could happen on a Friday night. That feeling—just under the surface—that your whole life could change at any moment. I remember how scary all of the unknowns felt then, but there was a kind of magic in the not-knowing, too.

I wish I’d known then what I know now:

That all of those unknowns would work themselves out.

That I didn’t need to worry so much.

That I should wear the crazy outfit, take the trip, call the friend, dance on the bar. (And wear sunscreen!)

And I suspect that future me, fifteen years from now, will want to say something similar to me, right now. 

“Enjoy the noise. Enjoy the chaos. Enjoy being treated like a human jungle gym. One day, you’ll miss this.”

It’s hard to stay present in the moment—but the truth is—no matter our age, we’ll never be this young again.