The dawn of my 40^th year was foggy and overcast.  AppleJack and I rose early for a birthday run in the dark and woke every dog in the neighborhood.  Hellraising seemed appropriate for the occasion even if it was unintentional.  Cousin Leigha asked me yesterday if I was going to go out and do something young and dumb to celebrate the end of my youth.  As I passed a sleeping house with about five yapping dogs throwing a fit in the living room window I figured I did something old and mean instead.

The first gift of the day was that AppleJack took the week off.  The family texts started coming in as I got ready for work.  When I got to work I found that my office had been converted to a temple.  Black streamers hung from the doorway and the ceiling.  The door bore signs heralding 40 and wishing me happiness.  One sign read “With Age Comes Wisdom.  That’s why we love our Sassyisms!” I thought this reference was just a clue that the decorators had been reading them and liked them.  Well, yes and no.  They had definitely read them but there was more to come on that.

I was given a pink sparkling tiara with marabou feathers to wear and a black ribbon to pin over my breast advertising my age.  The floor was completely covered with balloons—black, yellow, and sassy grass green.  My office chair had been converted into a silver throne.  An altar was set up on one wall under banners wishing me more happiness.  More black streamers hung in a canopy over my desk.  On every wall were giant 40 signs and pithy sayings such as “OLD AS MOLD, “ “OLDER THAN DIRT,” “OVER THE HILL,” “If you were a car you’d be an antique!” and “What doesn’t hurt doesn’t work.”  Everywhere the eye could rest was festooned with such a black sign and in the middle of my desk, spelled out in cupcakes with black icing letters, “Sassy is 40!.”  This is why I didn’t notice the Sassyisms at first. 

Then it hit me.  There were white signs on the walls too.  Holey buckets.  The white signs were pieces of my writing!  My coworkers had printed out the long list of my Sassyisms and passed it around.  Everyone chose their favorites and then they were printed as signs and hung like pop art all around my desk. As soon as I noticed the first one I saw them all at once and my jaw dropped to my collarbone.  For two heartbeats I thought I might cry but the glowing faces of my friends as they said “We picked our favorites!” was such a rush I quickly moved on to elation. 

Then the parade began.  One by one our clients came to my office and placed offerings on the altar.  Packets of tea, candy, snacks, roses, and more cupcakes.  Coworkers continued to bring in signs declaring me fierce and fabulous and 14,600 days old.  Ugly Doll photos began to show up, including this one from my Dad. 

The parade continued throughout the morning as clients came by with offerings for the altar and a hug.  AppleJack had apparently been consulted for a list of my favorites so a basket on the altar slowly filled up with all my favorite things as the hours went by.

Then a parade of gifts began.  A carrot cake to accompany the carrot cupcakes.  A funny card.  A magic wand.  A suncatcher for my yoga room.  A blessing ring.  Vintage jewels from my co-dreamer’s grandmother.  A tiny piece of handcrafted art that reads “A true friend hears the song in your heart and sings it back to you when you’ve forgotten it.”  A one hour massage.

Just when I thought it was all slowing down came a bottle of Sassafras tea and a pink t-shirt with the proclamation Fine and Forty on one side and One Hot Mama on the other.  Following that came the Top 40 hits of 1972 and palm-sized art prints tossed onto my desk like confetti.  There was barely time to recover from that when a bouquet of paper daffodils arrived bearing a gift card for more tea. 

When I came back from lunch even more clip art had been applied to my office, including a long list of celebrities born on my birthday and an exhaustive reference work all about the number 40.  By the end of the day the basket on the altar was overflowing with treats as the clients kept pouring in one at a time with their offerings.  One sang Happy Birthday to me and one brought me a handmade card with a house, a sun, her name, and the words Love You.  On and on the parade went until it was time for the clients to board their buses and I was sure the festivities were finally over.  Nope, not over.

After the cake was consumed we played a frenzied game of balloon volleyball with all the balloons at once until we were sweating and laughing and drawing a crowd in the hallway.  To finish it off we all grabbed plastic forks and knives and then got down on our hands and knees to stab the balloons to death.  It was an incredible day.  I felt like I had been through some kind of Love Boot Camp.  My face hurt from smiling so much.  My brain could hardly hold it all.  I drove home completely saturated with happy fatigue.

As for turning 40 I am blown away by how much fun it all was.  This was way more fun than turning 16, 18, 21, or 30.  40 feels delicious.  It feels easier somehow; less angst, less crap, fewer ridiculous expectations of how things should be.  It feels more appreciative and more intuitive.  This feels much more “prime” than 25 or 35 did.  I definitely feel less burdened and restricted than ever before.  I have so much more satisfaction in life and with myself than ever before.  The list of things that truly matter at 40 is a much shorter list and the items on that list are of a much higher quality.  Friendships at 40 far exceed the frivolities of the younger years.  Oh and by the way, sex is better at 40 than it was at 20, as is the food, the music, and the humor.  As I said to a 35 year old woman who came by to see how I was dealing with turning 40, “I highly recommend it.”

© 2012, ACG