When I first saw When Harry Met Sally, I was a teenager, and the space between 32 – Sally’s age during that pivotal scene – and 40 didn’t seem like much to quibble over. “Yeah, you’re gonna be 40, Sally, but let’s be honest here…you’re already old,” quipped my insufferably youthful mind.
Needless to say, when I myself turned 32, that eight-year distance seemed a lot more meaningful. I had plenty of time to be ‘in my 30s,’ I figured…and yes, in some ways, that was true. Still, in the chaos of raising young children and growing my career, my early 30s went by in a blur. And even though my life has calmed down immeasurably since getting that last “baby” firmly out of the diapers-and-tantrums stages, the passage of time doesn’t seem to be slowing at all. I just celebrated my 37th birthday and now I’m over halfway to my 38th.
The message is clear: I’m gonna be 40.
When, you ask, Harry?
Well, sooner than I can likely imagine.
I’m not in mourning over the milestone, by the way. I’ve been getting steadily older long enough to have gotten used to those “big” dates and to realize how meaningless they really are in the end. Plus, in a lot of ways I feel younger than I did in my 20s, when I was in the early stages of having babies and chasing toddlers. Crow’s feet notwithstanding, I think I even even look younger than I did back then, mired in an unfortunate blend of up-and-down pregnancy weight gain, bad “mom” haircuts, baggy postpartum wardrobes and unflattering glasses. [Read more…]