So this is the precipice of 40: lying in the emergency room, hooked up to a mass of wires and an EKG machine, with a nurse asking, “When did the chest pains start?”

I’m not sure what’s more alarming: the efficiency with which I’m being admitted, stripped, and examined, or the fact that it’s happening to me. My heart rate was actually normal until the EKG machine rolled in, and then it rose with every sticker they added to my abdomen. I’m not sure what I envisioned, but not this full blown, Grey’s Anatomy “interactive” episode I now seem to be engulfed in. Even my ER doctor is hot. *Sigh* No, this is not how I envisioned spending this Sunday night.

Looking back, this was probably coming for quite some time. On a scale from 1 to 10, my stress level has waivered between 8 and 12 for almost a year. Maybe more. A stress level as low as “7” felt like a blessing.

Not to brag, but on the list of “Life’s Most Stressful Events”, I checked 5 out of the top 10 in under 18 months. Talk about over-achieving. Someone needs to have a serious “gettin’ too big for your britches” talk with my ambition.

Indeed, in 18 short months, I have:

Lost my mother, lost a dog, lost an income source, lost my former father-in-law, helped my husband start a business, lost an office administrator, hired a new office administrator, became the sole income source for my family, along with countless other family medical emergencies, surgeries, crises, etc. It’s been a non-stop ride. All while devoting large portions of my week to studying for a monumental certification (that I thankfully will not have to do again).

So, yes, I can see how this episode of chest pains might have been on the horizon for a while.

But at the change of the year, from the wreckage of 2022 to the blissful hope of a new year in 2023, I found myself “deep breathing” into a slow transition of calm. I started some new morning practices. New weekly regimens for how to treat my time, and created a calendar that supported my weekly and daily flow. I paid more attention to my daily mental and emotional buckets, and began managing them proactively.

It also spurred me to finally get a GP (general practitioner, for anyone else who dropped the ball on their personal medical care). And she is fabulous. After a remarkable amount of time and investigation, we have come to four possible culprits:

a.) heart issues (unlikely)

b.) anxiety

c.) stress

d.) (very long medical term for inflammation in the tissue between my ribs)

“Here’s the deal, Doc. If you prescribe fours day a week of yoga, three days a week of nature walks, and daily meditation, I will follow it to a ‘t’. But if you prescribe a single drug, it will not happen.”

“Fair enough. Want me to add in monthly massages too? It’s not out of the question, depending on your health insurance plan.”

“Yes, please. You’ve got a deal.”

She’s my people.

So, yes. I’m turning 40 this Thursday. A handy excuse for John to play a particular Jimmy Buffett song on repeat.

I cannot shake the memory of my dad turning 40, and joke after joke of “being over the hill”, needing a walker, and dentures, etc. etc. etc.

40 seemed so much older back then.

I would love to tell you that I’m in the best shape of my life. That I walk several miles every morning. That I count my macros and follow a perfectly balanced food pyramid of veggies and fiber. That I regularly lift weights, and I run the occasional 5K. That I’m a regular at the local hip hop/jazzercise/Zumba group.

Nope. I can tell say that none of that is true in the slightest.

But despite this whole “chest pains” fiasco, I can tell you I’m pretty proud of this milestone. And incredibly proud of these first 40 years.

Through loss, family crises, and serious mental illness in my immediate family, I have never once taken a single medication for anxiety, depressions, mood modification, pain management, etc.

I have accomplished the most terrifying feat I once imagined: restarting of my life. And pretty successfully, if I do say so myself.

I have risen. At every stumble, fall, barrier, and crisis. I have risen to the occasion every time.

I have learned what an exceptionally terrible listener I was. And worked to embed my relationships with love first, curiosity second, and listening throughout. This mouth might spout a lot of sass, but I promise these ears have learned they are the true work horses in this world. And I have learned to covet my time listening to others, and their stories.

I have been loved. Not only by two incredible men, but by more family and friends than I could ever deserve. It is a blessing to know you are loved. It is a gift to be loved by so many, and accepted for just being yourself. If I could give each person in the world a single gift, it would be that feeling of being loved and accepted just as you are.

And most importantly, I have learned to love all the pieces of myself. The tough parts, the vulnerable parts, the growing parts, the shrinking parts – I’ve learned to love it all. Which is the most rewarding place to find one’s self at any stage of life.

I learned to love. To stand. To listen. And to rise.

Maybe 40 is older than I think. Or maybe it’s just a new start. I guess when it comes down to it, the first 40 is to teach us our personal “life lessons”. So we can spend the next 40 using the hard-earned lessons as our guide posts for the journey ahead. And we can pass on the wisdom to others, while living our own “best life”. Being the women we secretly admired in our 20s and 30s. Because they lived their lives as they chose. Chest pains and all.

That’s my hope, at least. To spend the next 40 doing all the same things. But with a full helping of self love, a dash of curiosity, and a smathering of experience to guide the way.

Oh, and I hired a writing coach. Actually a book coach. To help me write a book.

Love & Hugs