On turning 40.

This is 40.

Turning 20 was fine. Turning 30, was ok. I had always thought turning 40 would feel like the end. My mother had me at 17 years old so I remember her milestone birthdays well. She turned 30 right before I turned 13 and 40 when I was 22. I saw her go through emotional waves and thought that it was normal to dread monumental birthdays. She was wrong.

Turning 40 was great. But I don’t feel 40. When I turned 20, I didn’t think that turning 40 would look like this. I knew I would be a mom, I knew I would have a partner, but I had imagined a completely different life for myself. Like many 20 year olds, I romanticized everything. I wanted to live in New York, be a photographer and writer for Conde Nast, and be able to afford designer clothes and high-end items.

When I turned 30, Chris and I shared a bottle of Tilquin in Chicago at Local Option, a craft beer bar that in 2012 had just the right amount of pretentious energy. Having ordered a sour beer and being knowledgable about beer (thanks Chris) we were welcomed in and treated like insiders. Local Option was for locals.

Before this night, I hated sours. To me, they smelled like vomit. Their smell reminded me of vomit and their taste was too tart for my palate.

Everything changed in Chicago. I became obsessed with sours. And life felt like it was turning a new leaf. My palate was changing. My outlook was changing. My relationship changed too.

My 20s were rough. I went through a divorce, started a new relationship immediately following it and moved to Miami. Love and life was a challenge. Work was not great, I had not found my footing yet.

After the struggles of my 20s, I felt optimistic that my 30s were going to be better. They had to be.

And they really were.