My 40th birthday had me depressed. I had gotten it into my head that how I was at 40 would be how I was the rest of my life. Coming off a self-destructive relationship didn’t give me an optimistic outlook, but I talked myself into believing that how I was at 40, overall, averaged for the year, would be how I would be the rest of my life. Time to turn things around!
My 41st birthday found me essentially unchanged. Possibly worse. So much for that.
Fine. I was single and alone. Okay, suck it up, embrace singleness, enjoy my friends, and get on with life. Yup!
At 41½ I met Deb.
On my 42nd birthday I was engaged, and every birthday since I’ve been married.
My point (still with me?) is that milestone birthdays mean roughly as much as any other birthday for life changes.
After your 21st, of course. Oh, and 50th, because then you can join AARP. And at 62 you can start Social Security. And 65: Medicare! Okay, y’know what, just ignore this post, I obviously have no clue what I’m talking about.