2020. When the last of Gen X turns 40.
To say I wasn’t looking forward to turning 40 was an understatement, but in the run-up to it, I had been trying to make the blow as painless as possible. I had lost the “Heathrow Stone” I had tacked on (apparently, Triple Cooked Chips are not calorie-free) when I moved to London five years prior. I was finally getting into a groove with an anti-aging skincare routine that turned the great canyons into small ditches (I own a 15x magnifying mirror so you can’t tell me otherwise). Though I had spent lots of time thinking about fillers and Bo-Bo, I didn’t do it. That’s what counts, y’all. The gray hairs appeared but stayed pretty minimal thanks to genetics, an excellent pair of tweezers and a fairly high pain threshold. And in terms of my life, things were moving along nicely there too – I was a few months away from moving in with my boyfriend and my web design business was really taking off.
Just when you thought it was safe to turn 40
Then COVID-19 appeared and took on the role of drunk asshole who crashes your underage dorm party and gets you put on housing probation the rest of the semester.
In a matter of weeks, our trip to New York to do a joint 40th celebration with one of my best friends had to be postponed. And then the subsequent plans to just do something nice here in London that night got axed too, because all the restaurants and pubs were closed. Now, because I’m isolating with my boyfriend at his place, the day I mark my 40th year on the planet will be celebrated with a restaurant takeaway of my choosing.
I’m not complaining, actually. Life is full of way more important problems right now and once again, it has taken something horrible like the coronavirus pandemic to make me put aside my ridiculous complaints about hitting that next milestone birthday (why do we even do number birthdays? Why can’t we just admit we’re old when our boobs hit our stomachs? But I digress).
It’s my party…or not
But yes, once again. I had been in a similar way when I was about to turn 30. Stressing over what that meant, feeling like it was the beginning of the end, mourning the end of my youth. And then, someone in my family developed cancer very young, and life was brought back into perspective. Back then, I was married to a total nightmare of a man, which I have to tell you, is just about the worst way to frolic about in your supposedly carefree 20s. I felt uninspired in my job as a teacher, but had full-on job security—which, closing in on 30 and following the economic downturn of 2008, was nothing to sneeze at. So, I sucked up the unhappiness and let it manifest into a bubble of despair around turning 30, only to have this bubble popped by something even more substantial – and then 30 went by quietly. No fanfare. No big party. No amazing vacation. No meltdown. A quiet dinner out with a few people and the family member mentioned, who thankfully recovered.
Goodbye 30s
And as quietly as my 30s came in, they’ll leave quietly too, as they’re not allowed to go out and slam down Fireball shots in the age of social distancing. But the decade itself was one of growth, for sure… and maybe a twinge of maturity (just ignore the Fireball comment). I left my marriage for good at 32 – and learned when he begged repeatedly for me to give things another chance (even when he was living with the woman he would later marry), that I was more of a catch than I ever realized, and all the things he continually put me down for — which I, of course, internalized — were things he didn’t want to live without. This gave me a great deal of confidence going forward, and doing it without him – and not only that, but allowing me to accept that I deserved much, much better.
Having just vested in my pension, I left teaching 10 years to the day I started. I moved to London. I went back to school, this time to get a degree in web design, which I had been long-passionate about, even as a teacher. Being one of the oldest on the program and the least computer-experienced I struggled a little. However, being older had given me a welcome advantage I didn’t see coming – the relationship I had with my teachers and the wisdom in knowing my grades didn’t mean shit in the real world, allowing me to just focus on learning what I needed to. And still, not only did I pass, but I graduated with honors- and it was my best education experience to date.
Old kid on the block
That thrill wasn’t long-lasting of course – I still needed to find a job, and at 36, I knew that I was a dinosaur in the tech world. I had been at a tech talk a few months earlier where the speaker said, “If you’re still in tech in your 30s, you’ve outstayed your welcome, and if you’re in tech in your 40s, there is something wrong with you.” It shook me, but it didn’t derail me. That was another blessing of my 30s. I didn’t flip my shit over baseless nonsense spewed by Millennial “tech bros.” Instead, I started my own web design agency and vowed to attract the clients that those wanks thought they were too good for.
And despite the absolute cojones I managed to grow in my 30s – and being in a much better place on every level (ok, aside from my body slowly falling apart and a new reliance on ibuprofen), I still am in disbelief that 40 has snuck up on me. Man, even reading that number back through my “computer glasses” (don’t make me say it) is a shock.
80s Babies
I mean, those of us born in 1980 are still basically jailbait, right? Our baby photos were in color. And not always that weird orange-yellow tint, but legit color. We watched cartoons that are still popular with today’s young’uns. The Internet appeared around the same time our acne did. Our teenage years weren’t that long ago, were they? Remember how good the music was? Did Doc Martens ever really go OUT of style? Hey, we’re still younger than the cast of Friends!
Of course, the 1980 crew can at least take comfort in knowing that middle-age now looks a lot different than that of our parents’ or grandparents’ generations. We’re in good company – Kim Kardashian, Jake Gyllenhaal, Rebel Wilson, and Ryan Gosling are part of the 1980 club, just to name a few. You wouldn’t guess they’re 40. Even without the pig fat injections and vampire blood facials. At 40, if you choose to procreate, it’s still possible to do so (If you want to. I’m fucking tired already and I don’t even have kids).
A whole new world
With everything I’ve said about the new middle age, with every achievement I’ve had in my 30s, welcoming 40 still feels surreal, especially now in the time of a global crisis. I’m happy to be alive, to be relatively healthy (BRB looking for a piece of wood to knock on) and in a better place in life than I was when the light on my 20’s was fading.
So, when I turn 40 this week, with my better half by my side and surrounded by my best friends digitally, I’ll be grateful I got here, satisfied with the direction my life took in the past decade. I can only hope that with the wisdom I’ve gained as I age, that my 40s will prove to be something even more amazing than my 30s – which were full of experiences, good and bad, that I will never forget.
That is, until the senility kicks in.
1980-ites are the babies of Generation X. And now, we’re the last representatives of that generation milling about in Club Thirtysomething. It’s time for us to pack up and move on; to let the millennials have it to themselves.
To those setting up camp in the 30’s bracket – have a great time. Cherish the experience of discovering what adulthood really means and solidifying the self-identity you were struggling to find in your 20s. It’ll have its up and downs like anything else, but it’ll be one hell of a ride.
I’ll be sure to clear up my birthday takeaway boxes on the way out.
