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I am 40.
I have gray hair.
Wrinkles.
Aches and pains.
I can’t fully straighten the fingers on my right hand.
I get indigestion.
I am asleep by 9pm.
My job is stressful.
I drink too much wine.
I don’t understand Tik Tok.
I don’t like driving at night.
I’ve been married twice.
Lost friends.
Lost faith.
Screamed.
Cried. 

But.

I am 40.
I have a kickass hairstyle.
My face is my own.
No fillers.
My hands can cook a mean spaghetti dinner.
I can do 20 push-ups.
I am well-rested.
My job is a blessing.
I am honest and unashamed.
I have an (almost) photographic memory.
I know what I like.
I’ve had a child.
Gained friends.
Gained confidence.
Rejoiced.
Sang.

I am 40. 

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