I’m just at three months away from turning 40, and suddenly life feels like it walked into the room and flipped on a bright overhead light. You know it’s coming, but you don’t actually feel it until one day you look in the mirror and the wrinkles that used to come and go are just… there. Permanent residents.
It’s bizarre because you don’t see the aging happening year to year. It sneaks up on you. My older photos look smoother, tighter, more naïve. But at the time, I never thought, “Oh, I look young.” I just existed.
Health wasn’t a priority in my younger years. I was always chubby or fat growing up, so my “healthcare” in my 20s was basically just dieting. Then in my late 20s I got weight-loss surgery. I lost 100 lbs and suddenly “felt” healthier — not because I was living well, but because thinness tricks you into believing you’re healthy.
Then in my early 30s I wrecked my body a bit with drinking, but since I was still skinny, no one questioned it. Including me.
I never worried about skin care. I rarely wore makeup. I could bleach my hair 20 times, live off Hot Pockets and Dr. Pepper, pull all-nighters, and bounce back like a feral raccoon with good metabolism.
But these last few months?
I’m leaning into “healthy” ideas.
Still lazy, obviously — but trying.
So I’ve been focusing on weight, food, and skin. Mostly skin and wrinkles. Exercise will come later… maybe. I did buy workout clothes, mostly because they’re comfy at home and socially acceptable at Target.
Skin care has become a whole new game I didn’t even know existed. Now I’m deep into ingredients, routines, and hacks — and doing it cheaply, because 90% of these serums overlap anyway. Seeing fast results made it kind of addictive, so now I document it.
Weight-wise, between GLP-1s and having weight-loss surgery ten years ago in Mexico after a lifetime of crash dieting, I have a ton of perspectives. And being 125 lbs at 39 — my lowest adult weight — is a weird milestone. I’m happy to be here, but I also know I need actual health, not just a number.
Overall, I’ve learned it’s time to start doing things.
Learning things.
Maintaining things.
Skin, hair, nails, digestion, body, habits — the whole “maintenance mode” no one tells you starts around 40.
It’s wild how much advice is out there, and how little we actually do for our health despite all the tools available. Everything’s changed — from GLP-1s to telehealth to wellness tech — and honestly? It’s fascinating watching the options expand.
And here’s the part that hit me the hardest:
I’m probably going to live way longer than I originally thought.
I was never a vain person — hard to be when you grew up heavier and teased. But now I’m realizing that health, and even a little healthy vanity, actually matters. Not for looking hot, but for longevity, job market competitiveness, mobility, social life, confidence, and overall well-being.
Medical advances.
Technology.
AI replacing half the risky jobs.
Better prevention.
Better treatments.
Future humans might live to 100 like it’s normal.
Which means…
I am not halfway through anything.
I’m not even at the 50% mark.
I’m barely entering the long-term maintenance phase that older people do. And I’m realizing I should’ve started sooner.
I used to think 40 was old.
Now I see it like this:
- 20 years of childhood
- 20 years learning how to be an adult
- 40 more years actually being one
We are NOT even halfway through the game.
And honestly, some people at 40 look like they’re still in their 20s. Some look 60. The visual range is chaotic. But mentally? 40 is sharp. Present. Aware. You’re not even halfway through your career if you were born in the 80s or later. Financially, socially, practically — most of us will be working into our 60s or 70s. Inflation demands it.
Do you know how disorienting that realization is?
It’s like someone telling you the “season finale” was actually the beginning of episode one.
I thought the timeline was:
Childhood → trauma → twenties → chaos → thirties → stability → forties → gentle decline → done.
But no.
Apparently I need to plan for being alive and functioning for decades.
Plural.
Multiple.
Which means I have to start actually… doing things.
Not in a bucket-list way.
More like:
If I’m gonna be here for 30+ more years, I should figure out who the hell I want to be.
And it’s weirdly energizing. Not the Pinterest version of motivation. More like:
- Holy shit, I actually have time.
- Holy shit, I might have a lot of time.
- Holy shit, future-me needs me to get my shit together NOW so she doesn’t panic at 60.
- And also… I have time to figure things out. I don’t need to overhaul my life. I can talk about it. I can ease in. I can grow slowly.
I don’t feel old.
I feel… alerted.
Like the universe tapped me on the shoulder and whispered:
“Hey. You’re not done. Start now.”
Start the blog.
Start the hobbies.
Start the community.
Start the self-care.
Start the curiosity.
Start the honest conversations.
Start the version of life I actually want to live.
It’s surreal to hit the brink of 40 and realize:
I’m not running out of time.
I’m finally understanding how much time I have.
And honestly?
That’s a great fucking moment to have at 39 and ¾.