Aging is wild and messy, so as an obsessive introspector (not a word, I know) who always overshares, I like to canonize my birthday through a mini aging journal where I unravel my physical, mental and social state of being. We all know I’m not known for brevity, so here we go …

If I’m being honest, I’ve disliked my 40s (so far—second half TBD). Never before have I placed so much emphasis on a number; I used to say “age is just a number,” then I reached my 40s. I’m too young to be old, but too old to be young. The physical perils of aging are still to come. But I dislike that I feel my age every time I do hard labor. I dislike my slowing metabolism and the weight gain that seems impossible to undo. I dislike that I have venous insufficiency, which makes my legs ache whenever I don’t get enough activity. I dislike my greying hair—greying being the operative word as I wouldn’t mind going all grey, but the in-between stage is annoying as heck. I dislike that I am still on this perimenopausal rigmarole best described as puberty in reverse and biological chaos (whereas most women I know just sailed through menopause and I’m now several years in the making).

What I DO like about my 40s is this version of myself and this nontraditional life Justin & I created. Life would be boring if we stayed the same version of ourselves the whole time. Which why I think my theme for my 40s has been unapologetic. It’s a lesson in meeting myself where I am.
Unapologetic for wanting me time as a way to recenter.
Unapologetic for saying no to social events.
Unapologetic for keeping my phone on silent.
Unapologetic for choosing which relationships I want to cultivate.
Unapologetic for falling asleep in the middle of the day like an elderly house cat.
Unapologetic for using my paper day planner as my anchor for not getting too overwhelmed.
Unapologetic for creating a to-do list and giving my full attention to one task at a time.
Unapologetic for not giving into a hustle and taking pleasure in purposeful and calm intentions.
Unapologetic for using a minuscule amount of modern medicine to quiet the wheels turning in my monkey mind and to sleep every night.
Unapologetic for not feeling like I have to make decisions or do emotional work for other people (these boundaries are still a work in progress).
In order to get where I am in life, I’d like to recognize all those other versions of myself as an adult. Kind of like an ode to the other decades!
Twenty-three years ago (2000), I had just graduated college with a degree in English and Spanish and no clear path as to what my writing career would be. I chose to eschew it for a year and set off to live in Arizona with 5 strangers as volunteers for Holy Cross Associates (read more here). This one year ended up shaping my 20s and opened my eyes to life outside of the tri-state area (where I spent my first 20 years). Plus, if I hadn’t moved to Arizona, it’s unlikely Justin & I would have met.


Fifteen years ago and newlyweds (2008), Justin and I were in a vastly different stage of our lives than we are now. We funneled into life’s well worn path of school, work, house. We both had careers with full-time jobs—only 1 job each. We owned a home in Virginia (that we rented out) and rented a cute house in New Hampshire, where Justin was a parks and recreation director. I worked from home as a medical writer, but traveled often to medical conferences in places like San Francisco, Chicago, New Orleans and Orlando, with travel to an international conference every once in awhile. Living on the East Coast meant we saw our friends and family a lot. Concerts, camping, crabfests—those were the halcyon days. Justin & my sister threw me a surprise birthday party for my 30th in 2008!




Twelve years ago (2011), Justin & I were happily jobless and houseless. We were thru hiking the Appalachian Trail—basically halfway done. I celebrated my 33rd birthday at the Doyle Hotel in Pennsylvania with our trail buddy, Fire Marshall. This thru hike ended up being a catalyst to restart life in a nontraditional trajectory where we would choose our own metric of success.


Ten years ago (2013), we were living like tumbleweeds, working for Backpacker Magazine on the Gear and Go Tour during the summer. We called a company-sponsored Sprinter van home, and bounced around in it giving presentations from coast to coast. In between work, we played hard. In fact, we were backpacking 100 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail for my 35th birthday.



Seven years ago (2016), we were part time van-lifers and part-time property caretakers/environmental educators at a private ranch in northern New Mexico. The sweet N.M. gig meant we taught grades K-5 in the remote Jemez Mountains for a few weeks in the spring and a few weeks in the fall. The rest of the year, we were keeping the well pumping and could come and go as we pleased at the 5-acre property. I wrote a book and Justin climbed Denali, so clearly we had a lot of freedom with our time.

Four years ago (2019), we decided it was time to settle down (again). And Justin’s 16 years of begging finally convinced me that we should buy property in Alaska. After 2 summer seasons of working in Alaska, I realized this state felt more like home than any other place. Wilderness calls to me, and even with its objective hazards, it still feels safer than the suburban environment I had grown up in. I’ve lost count, but I think this is around the 25th place I’ve called home in 45 years, and I was ready to embrace my inner homebody again. Home looks like a log cabin nestled among spruce forests, moss-covered tundra, braided rivers and snow-capped mountain vistas. The people—like-minded aging, childless people who prioritize outdoor activities and swing the seasonal life without regard for climbing a career ladder—are different than any other stage of my life. I think we’ll stay here for a bit.


I haven’t reached all of my goals and there are dreams I’m still building, but I’ve done a heck of a lot more than that awkward 12-year-old who tried too hard to make friends and wrote stories in her journal could have imagined. And if I could rewind time and give a piece of advice to her, I would tell her the key to success in life is to optimize the conditions of your life instead of trying to control them.
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Happy birthday, Patrice! I enjoyed this post of going down memory lane with you. Your comment about an elderly cat taking a nap gave me a good laugh. You are all grown up…and ready for a colonoscopy! Enjoy your day!
Brought back some cool memories with that post. Hope to see you guys soon!
Happiest of birthdays! I relate to much about this post. My sister and I have had frequent conversations about how being 40-something is the pits. Going through reverse adolescence and all of the wild emotional and physical changes it brings, coming to terms with your limitations, dealing with life’s widest spectrum of responsibilities (i.e. kids for many, extended family, aging parents), letting go of past assumptions (my sister is embarking on a faith journey away from the religion of our youth) and facing down your mortality (am I really doing what I want to do with my life?) At the same time — as you observed — we’re becoming more comfortable with who we are, with said limitations, with our accumulation of experiences, with shifts in our hopes and dreams. We’re not who we were in our 20s and I don’t think we’d want to be. Growth is good, though painful.
Patrice, you have lived a life equaled to a hundred lifetimes and you are only half done! Just think of what lies ahead! “Forty-five” — why you are still a baby! Enjoy each and every moment good or bad, happy or sad. It goes by so very fast. You are not ready to slow down any time soon (and, yes, I am still jealous)! Bless you and Justin for having the courage to pursue your dreams! It’s not over yet!
My least favorite thing about my 40s are waking up in the middle of the night in a panic and wondering how much I’m squandering my life. Oh, and the health issues.
Happiest of belated birthdays to you! I feel like we are due an email or text exchange so as soon as your summer calms down, let’s chat!
PS: You’ve done a lot with your 45 years so far!