I Think I'm Going To Shut My Mouth

I’ve often heard it said that one of the best things about turning 40 is finally knowing who you are. That you’ve arrived. The big questions have more or less been answered, the battles with parents and lovers waged and won. Or at least put to rest. With all that baggage stowed safely away underneath the proverbial seat, never to be seen again save for the occasional bad day when some random issue rears its ugly head, 40 means shit's about to get good. Sure "stuff" occasionally looms, but it’s fleeting. Not like the old days when being triggered meant hours or even days of fights with the boyfriend I thought for sure was “the one” (how many “ones can a girl have in a lifetime, anyway?), and scrambling to find the time for the subsequent therapy sessions needed to talk myself off the ledge.

But not anymore. Nope! Now I'm 40. From here on in, wise female elders proclaim, I am poised to live out the rest of my life knowing the worst is behind me. 40 is just the beginning, the start of a new chapter. The skin is comfortable. The wisdom palpable. For I now KNOW myself inside and out. It's a right of passage, by virtue of the fact that I was born in 1970, I have finally earned. I’m just not sure I agree.

One of the many confusing things about life, and aging in particular, is that at each turning of a new decade, and sometimes part way through it, I’ve been absolutely convinced I knew myself inside and out; what I wanted, what I needed, the mistakes I'd never make again and why I made them in the first place. Oh the journaling, the endless analyzing, the "how I’ll do things SO differently next time" conversations with girlfriends over wine. "Jesus what an idiot I was! If only I could go back and tell that girl what I know now." And I meant it every time. Only to get a few more years under my belt and with it, the dawning of an entirely new realization that who I was the last time I said I knew exactly who I was, looks nothing like who I am TODAY, and thus, I guess I didn’t really know myself at all because that girl was an idiot! Since this keeps happening over and over again, I’ve become fairly dubious about making that claim ever again. If I do, my 50 year old self will just look back on it and laugh anyway. I’d like to avoid the embarrassment, if I may.

For the record, I am more comfortable in my skin, and yes I know the mistakes I've made and why, and I most certainly would NOT go back for all the money in the world - I like my battle scars. I'm just tired of convincing myself that I know how this life thing works. That I know the depths of my soul and how much more there is to come because by virtue of my proclamation that I know myself THIS fully, I'm also professing to know how much is left to uncover. Which isn't much if I think I've got this thing licked at 40. So I think I'm going to shut my mouth, and resign myself to the fact that I am a total and utter ass. And I'll always be one no matter what age I am through the eyes of the me that's a few years older. It never ends. I wouldn't want it to given the choice. Finally understanding that I will always be a relative fool is the best thing about turning 40.