Forty-Six

Earlier this week I emailed Jill: it’s hard to believe that after tomorrow—when I join her in being 46—we will both be closer to 50 than to 40.

We have lived through a lot together and have learned important lessons that seem to change in nature over time. In our teens it was enough to finally figure out that powder blue eye shadow is not always flattering and in our early twenties to find out that your eye shadow doesn’t need to match your outfit. In our later twenties we figured out that just because you’re willing to wait doesn’t mean he’ll eventually fall in love with you, too. In our thirties we understood that we were lucky to have made it that far, and that time does fly the way grownups always said it did. And, wouldn't you know, we were the grownups now, reasonable and responsible and able to figure out, in our forties, that life is precious and sometimes too short.

As I turn 46, I know a few other things about this precious life that I feel compelled to share.

Life is too short to ever wear pantyhose in the summer. And control top anything. Anytime. Lately I feel gravity is more flattering than displacement and compression.

Likewise, no one should ever wear uncomfortable shoes (and if you haven’t yet figured it out, cheap shoes are invariably uncomfortable).

Or underwear that doesn’t fit right. All that time you’ve spent fixing your wedgies you’ll never get back.

Speaking of time you'll never get back, getting sh*tty drunk is never worth the hangover the next day.

Keeping track of lies takes time and energy better spent telling the truth and being yourself. Being nice is easier than being mean; being sincere is better than being phony.

But most of all, being true to yourself—honoring yourself and valuing your own worth—reaps rewards that trying to please other people at your own expense never will. Because when you settle into yourself and feel comfortable in your own skin, turning another year older doesn’t feel bad at all.