40

It’s a bit surreal to me, but I’ve officially left my 30s and began my 40s.

I have to admit, 40 has hit me harder than some of the other “age milestones”. I remember thinking my parents were perpetually 40 years old growing up. I swear it was like my dad was 45 for 8 years.

It was like time stopped for them, but not for me. And now I feel myself stepping into that same window of time.

What’s been bouncing around in my head is: When my daughter recalls formative memories of her life will she feel the same?

And that is what feels “old” to me. Not turning 40. But knowing my daughter is entering into those same years of my life that I look back on today. She’s seeing me like I saw my parents.

Kind of a headtrip, honestly.

I don’t really know what I’m doing

What’s funny is—even as I turn 40—I still don’t really know what I’m doing.

• I’m still looking up what the hell “escrow” is
• And how many C’s and M’s are in “accommodate” (I had to look it up for this, too)
• And if the sun rises in the east or the west

I’m also realizing “Oh, my parents didn’t really know what they were doing either”. (And they did an excellent job raising us anyway!)

Sure, I could maybe scramble together a “40 things I’ve learned” for this post. But I think it might be more earnest for me to tell you I’m not any more qualified to be an adult than you are.

I didn’t wake up imbued with mystical knowledge about how to be a “real adult”. I feel exactly like I did when I was in my 30s.

I don’t have an new, innate sense of how to manage home improvement projects. Or an understanding of world economics, politics, and finance.

I’m content spending my 40s on my daughter like my parents spent on my brothers and I: A brief period of time, trapped in amber, where some of my most special memories were made.

Using my years for my daughter.

Maybe that’s all being an adult is?