Turning 40: No one asked, but…

Aahhh, my 30s… my sweet, sweet summer child!

August 31, I’m still in my 30s. Contemplating.

Ten years ago, I was prepping my “I’m not 30. I’m 18 with 12 years of experience” banner with enthusiasm.

And now? No banner. No inspiration. Just me, waiting for the epiphany that clearly got lost in the mail.

I should do something.

Spark some unhinged chaos? Stage a romcom montage with candles, crying, and ill-advised texting? Flood my Facebook with philosophical one-liners?

Neurotic? Desperate? Naahhh, let’s go with bold and… whatever that word is for pretending you’re not trying so hard?

After all, tomorrow I lose my “3”. Forever.

No actual plans came to mind. Just a short list of pressing questions:

1. Is “life begins at 40” actually true, or are you all just lying to yourselves for comfort?
2. They say the moment you turn 40, you’re no longer considered young. Do I get kicked out of the “young and careless” category immediately? Or will society slowly phase me out?
3. They say women over 40 stop caring what others think. Does that kick in automatically, or do I need to activate it manually?
4. I’ve been told that people at 40 have families, savings, careers, property, and emotional stability. So… what time are those arriving tomorrow? If it arrives before lunch, I’ll tip.

And the most urgent question:

Technically, I turn 40 at midnight. Does the collapse begin right away? Or do I get a grace period until working hours?

Also, do we mean Mongolian working hours or Japanese? I have ample tomorrows if it’s Mongolian.

Intermission: The Existential Crumbs

Midnight struck. Curtains raised. I didn’t know I was holding my breath.

Here goes nothing. My moment of truth. I wasn’t prepared, but I was brave.

And then… Nothing.

No fireworks. No ascension to a higher self. No red card thrown in my face. No delivery. No cracking bones.

I wish I had a prompter right about now. Whisper-yelling “Exhale, exhale”.

But no. It was business as usual. A silent fall night. Not even a single cricket was smirking. Traitors.

Maybe I missed the sign? I glanced at my cats, hoping for a hiss or some divine signal. Nope. They were snoring like entitled landlords.

Cue the internal eye roll… Harbingers of doom, my ass.

By 00:15, I gave up. Either they sent my upgrade to the wrong house, or I’m an atheist and can’t see it.

The weather changed drastically, though.

Act II: 40 and Counting… Insert Wisdom Here

It’s been four days since I got yanked into the 40+ territory. Patiently waited. Keenly observed. Thoroughly noted.

Here’s the status report, thus far:

1. My bones have unionized. Joint fluids ghosted me. A breeze whispered “September,” and I blacked out in fleece. Fall is now dead to me. I used to dress cute. Now I layer up and hope the will is up to date.
2. While my wisdom remains pending, my irritability is thriving. Grumpiness? I now wear it like a badge of honor. Note to self: “It is not a competition. Stop typing to win”.
3. Turns out, my parents are human. They’re kinda interesting. We talk more. Our interests sync, rhythms match. Either I’m maturing or giving up. Hard to tell.
4. Life doesn’t feel like it’s “beginning”. But to be fair, it never really felt like it was ending either.
5. Muscle memory keeps writing “25”. The forms disagree. It’s officially awkward.

Oh, and one more thing, since 00:01 September 1, I’ve been living in the bathroom.

Age or watermelon? Age, definitely age.

Ms. Common-Sense is face-palming. Meanwhile, my Inner Queen of Denial is having the time of her life.

Epilogue:

And that’s how I turned 40.

No enlightenment. No drumrolls. Just a suspicious back pain and a creeping urge to buy a foot massager.

I’m The Unreliable Hattie, equal parts confusion, commentary, and caffeine.

Stick around. I’m only just beginning to spiral properly.