By the looks of this blog, you might think we over here at Alstin eat, breathe and sleep all that is recruitment and retention. Every so often we’ll stray from the HR talk and bring you more on some of our favorite things, places and activities that also populate our daily lives.
As I celebrated my 40th birthday in bed a few weeks ago (get your minds out of the gutter — I caught my daughter’s stomach bug), I got to thinking about how I felt about my fourth decade and realized I’m stuck somewhere between incredibly grateful and horribly blind sided.
On one hand, I’ve got a lot to be thankful for. I have a wonderful husband/marriage (don’t ever believe you can’t meet anyone good in a bar…), kids that I once thought I wouldn’t be able to conceive, and parents who’ve always been about being there and enjoying today. Though I feel the need to knock on wood, I’ve been pretty healthy, can still run a faster mile than most high schoolers (though my 14-year old nephew can definitely kick my butt in a 5k), have a job I enjoy, and friends I know, love, and can share, cry, work out, compare notes, and drink with without traveling more than a hour.
On the other hand, I’ve noticed some kinks in the armor. Ligaments that don’t recover quite as quickly as they used to. I’m investing a small fortune in retinol creams and large sunglasses to “rejuvenate” the delicate eye-area skin that I abused on the beach for ten years. I’m pretty anxious about the general well-being of our government, planet, and our nation’s kids. And I attended more funerals for the parents of friends in the past twelve months than I have weddings.
40 really isn’t just a number. It’s not even a milestone. It’s more like the mileage on my car’s odometer. Though I still feel like I’m chugging along at a good rate, I’ve got quite a few miles behind me, and the road ahead definitely has a horizon line. Am I at the halfway point? Or, like my Nana, who lived to 94, am I just getting to the good stuff?
To celebrate the beginning of my 41st year, my friends reminded me of who I used to be. My kids showed me they love me for who I am today. And my husband? He’s taking me to see Chelsea Handler, to laugh off any worries I have about what may happen from here on out.
This week, as I went from entering “39″ on the elliptical machine to entering “40″— does a machine REALLY need that much information?— I looked around the gym at the other people chugging along, just like me.
I admired the twenty-something, but I didn’t envy her. Too many decisions coming. Too much time spent thinking about the future. Too much proving yourself. I wondered about the sixty-something. Was she where she wanted to be? Did her kids still keep in touch? Did she still hold hands with her husband? But it was the seventy-something who really caught my attention.
It was when I saw her walking around the indoor track with her friend, moving to let others pass, happy to be where she was — heading toward what was around the turn with a look of contentment and grace — that I knew the answer. 40 is The New Me.
Ok. So this is sincerely a work of [he}art! It almost made me cry…like you! Nice job Christy!! You ol’ cougar!!!
Thanks Sweeney. I had a bunch of people comment on FB took…looks like I hit a nerve (or a gray hair)?