40 Things I Found Out At 40
Last year I turned 40. It felt monumental, like I had reached a significant milestone.
I had a party. I had an article published in a magazine. I had a wobbly about being middle aged.
Then I accepted and embraced it.
This week, I turn 41. So as I bid farewell to my first year of being a quadragenarian, I’ve jotted down 40 things I’ve learnt in my first 40 years.
It’s never too late, ever. I went solo travelling at 26. I lived overseas at 29. I had a baby at 37. I hoped to have written a book by 40, but I haven’t…. yet. Life can’t always be scheduled, plans can be shifted and sometimes it’s best to let serendipity work its magic.
If you keep your expectations low you won’t be disappointed, but you should never, ever lower your standards.
I’ve been driving since I was seventeen, but reverse parking still defeats me. I’ll happily drive around the block, two blocks if necessary, just so I can drive forwards into a space. With my dignity (and the left side of my car) intact.
Life can be devastating. It hurls things at you, really f*cking hard, that you will never get over or accept. It can crush you, if you let it.
Life can also bring the most extraordinary things. Savour these moments and drink every last drop.
Some people think my kindness is weakness. They think wrong.
Recently, a young man called me ma’am on the tube and offered to help me with my heavy bag. Inwardly, I’m feeling kinda thirty-two. Outwardly, I’m giving off middle-aged vibes.
I’m still petrified of Freddie Krueger, ever since I watched Nightmare on Elm Street at a friend’s house aged eleven without my parents knowing.
Dreams do come true if you put your mind to it, take risks, find the right person lovely enough and willing to support you and graft the hardest you’ve ever worked in your life.
Boots Cucumber Facial Wash still out face-washes even the fancy pants ones and, just as restorative as a clean face, makes me feel sixteen again.
It’s never a bad idea to read a book, but no good will ever come from keeping up with the Kardashians or the like. It builds feelings of discontent, inadequacy and fury which is a total waste of precious time.
I hate it when things are over, exactly as I did as a child. Like Holidays, parties, Netflix series, family time and Christmas. My son has it, too, and will bawl ‘I don’t wanna go!’, if he suspects even a whisper of home time.
Girls can break your heart just as well as any boys can. Hold your real friendships dear.
You can’t change what other people do, no matter how much you try, or what they think of you.
It is possible to hush your inner critic every once in a while.
It feels terrific to compliment. Admire someone’s lipstick, praise their work or support their business - it might transform their day, or even change their life.
It’s good to say no once in a while.
I still can’t find time for a bloody manicure or pedicure. I paint my nails in the car, at the rate of 1-nail-per traffic light while my husband gags at the fumes. Or pull the old ‘only-paint-toes-on-show-through-sandals’ trick and pray I’m not asked to remove my shoes.
Money doesn’t make you happy. I couldn’t give two hoots what your postcode is or where your cushions are from; it’s who you are, and how you treat people, that matters.
It’s OK to go home if you’re knackered or just not feeling it. (Hmm, could it be the FOMO that’s stalked me since my twenties is subsiding?)
There’s never enough roasted aubergine, crunchy peanut butter or millionaire’s shortbread. (Not at the same time).
I’m an ambivert - happily straddling the extraversion and introversion characteristics - rather than fitting neatly into one. I draw tons of energy from people and socialising but every now and then I must be on my own. To read Grazia while eating cereal out of the packet, run or listen to the Save the Last Dance soundtrack.
In your forties, what you lack in the ability to wear crop tops, you make up for with perspective, resilience and wisdom that you were only just warming up in your twenties.
It’s crucial to find your thing. Your escape, your sanctuary, something to lose yourself in. A good book, your favourite, worn-out album. The well-trodden path you love to walk. It will keep you going.
My day life is becoming my nightlife - early afternoon raves, one-day festivals, outdoor parties. Great music, daytime drinking and in bed by 11pm. Perfect.
There are four songs that will, guaranteed, make me cry on the spot. La Vie en Rose (Madonna, Rebel Heart Tour version), Somewhere Over the Rainbow (Judy Garland), Yellow (Coldplay) and We’ll Meet Again (Vera Lynn).
It doesn’t always have to be perfect (and as a perfectionist it hurts to say that) - but it must always be worth it.
Less can be more, and small but perfectly formed groups of your close friends are just as good a great big get together en masse.
I’ve frequented bars all over the world, but nothing beats an English boozer.
In the words of my idol Madonna; ‘Most of all and most importantly. Never. Doubt. Yourself.
If it feels wrong, it usually is.
It’s simply not possible to read all the books, practice yoga, run AND play tennis, answer every WhatsApp and email and get it all done. Sleep and rest is just as important.
Fashion always goes full circle. As evidenced recently at a day thing where I witnessed trend upcycling to the max; young people in neon, chunky trainers, and raffia. *WhatsApps Mum to ask if we still have the Naf Naf swimsuit in the loft, bought on that France holiday*.
My love of music hasn’t dimmed as I’ve become older, it glows brighter. Give me a cider and live music and everything is alright again.
The unrelenting, onward march of time pulls me towards an unthinkable place where people I love won’t be there anymore. Make every day count, even the rainy, uneventful ones.
I’m 41 years old and I still don’t cook. Or bake. Or soufflé. I read Ottolenghi for fun, binge watch Nadiya and gobble up restaurant reviews but I can’t cook a roast. Or make good cakes.
It’s not necessary or financially viable to buy a new outfit for every single occasion. Ironing, miraculously, creates a whole new outfit.
Sometimes you just need to go to bed and start all over again.
In the end, only three things matter: how much you loved, how gently you lived, and how gracefully you let go of the things not meant for you. (Buddha, not me).
To finally like myself, a bit more.
Here’s to the next 40 .
Nicola x
