At my last optometrist appointment, the eye doctor said, “I don’t know how to say this delicately, but you’re not getting any younger.” He was concerned that I was using the same eyeglasses for seeing far away that I was using in front of my computer all day. Although my vision is fine for things like reading, he cautioned that I would eventually need progressive lenses. My heart sank, equating those types of glasses as a sign of old age and imminent death.
I sat with that for a minute, and then an idea emerged.
“Can I just get two prescriptions and two pairs of glasses?”
He said, “of course!”
I left with two prescriptions: one for driving at night or squinting to see subtitles on the TV screen and the other for the hours I spend in front of my computer. The latter pair have a blue light coating as well, so it was a win for me and a win for the sales team at Warby Parker. The glasses are quite different from each other, and my “desk glasses,” as I call them, are a style I haven’t worn before. Think: rose gold frames that could be from the 1970s, but make them feminine.
Today is my 42nd birthday.
In my 30s, I spent too much time clawing at my last vestiges of youth. I mourned, especially during my divorce. I had resigned myself to a life lived alone. I imagined my deathbed would consist of me on a fainting couch (naturally), swathed in silks in a New York apartment, surrounded by a gay men’s choir singing me into heaven. I was terrified that anything past 35 was “unmarketable.” I obsessed over every line on my face, every creeping signal that the years were flying by. It did not help that I fell in love with a younger man. My now-husband is nearly eight years younger than me. When we met, he had a year left in his 20s (!!!), which filled me with insecurity. When we would go out to eat, if the waiter asked, “will this check be together or separate?” I took it as a sign that no one could believe this young, strapping man could be with a literal bag of bones woman. Did they think I was his mother? His much older sister?
Something shifted the moment I turned 40. It was as if I had been holding my breath for four decades and could finally exhale. Nothing external—my relationships, bank account, and job—prompted this. Instead, it was an internal settling of my nerves. It was this innate feeling that I was right where I needed to be, that I had finally arrived. This is not to say that I stopped trying to find the best anti-aging cream overnight. However, it does mean that the things that kept me up at night in my 30s don’t have the same powerful effect in my 40s.
So, in no particular order, here are some things I love about getting older:
Having dear friends who are a decade younger than me. It is so awesome to be asked for advice and to be able to draw on lived experience. I also love that they give me insight into what it feels like to be in your early-30s at this particular moment in history.
When you are 39, no one says, “oh my gosh, you look so good for your age!” But, somehow, turning 40 means that you constantly get compliments. I’m not too big to admit that it’s nice.
I am so much better at saying “no” and putting down boundaries.
I have no shame in admitting that I prefer to upgrade my plane ticket to board earlier or have extra legroom. Also, I never have to stay in a youth hostel again.
I am in tune with my body in a way I’ve never been. I love it so much that I understand the little tweaks I can make to treat it with care. I feel in my body, not at war with it.
I will change in front of other women whenever and wherever. I take my sweet time in the locker room and don’t rush to cover myself lest someone see my stomach. I’ve been to enough multi-generational Korean spas to know God crafts bodies in all shapes.
I grew up in a time before social media. MySpace and Facebook weren’t a thing until college. I would have tried to be a TikTok celebrity, so I am grateful it did not exist.
I know what looks good on me and know to avoid clothing trends that aren’t flattering.
Most importantly, I’ve accumulated years of mistakes that form a powerful testimony. When I speak, people listen. I can confidently tell people about the peaks and valleys of my life and how they led me back to God and church. This is the secret weapon of aging.
Moses was still writing songs at 120 years old. The end of Deuteronomy is a testament to the value of a long life. The wisdom of having been through some hard times and living to tell of it gives confidence to the next generation. The crazy thing about getting older is that I’m not afraid of death. (Yes, this just got extremely heavy.) The more solid I grow in my faith, the less scared I am of the day I stop getting older. One day I will have to answer for how I spent my life, and I’m ready for that. I’m excited to see what I have left to do on earth, but also excited at what’s to come. I am comforted by the story of the woman anointing Jesus with expensive oils, gently wiping him with her glorious hair, and preparing his body for a burial no one else believed would come. When Judas accuses her of being silly for this sacrificial gift, Jesus shushes him and says, “she has done what she could.” Every time I read that line in the Gospel of Mark, I get tears in my eyes. How beautiful will that day be when I sit with Jesus, account for my life, and hear him say the same about me?
Growing older isn’t a curse but a blessing. A woman at church the other morning told me that to be blessed is a command to “go forth and multiply.” It hit me that aging isn’t linear. It’s exponential. Every year brings a cumulative power of our experience and another glorious opportunity to be a multiplying presence in the world. For every person we talk to about our lives and our journey, they might talk to two, and those two to two more each. See how another year of wisdom and lessons can bless every person you come into contact with? It’s astounding.
I will not lie and say I’m embracing my gray hairs. In fact, I’m making an appointment right now for a root touch-up. I haven’t completely bought into the natural evolution of the body… I’m still a work in progress. Please do not feel compelled to send me Proverbs 16:31 or 20:29! What I am more sure of today than any other birthday I’ve ever had is that with age comes a responsibility to multiply—multiply your power, provision, and love. The world does not need a bitter middle-aged woman worn down by the harshness of life. The world needs women who persist and shine at any age.