The Start

Forty is a weird age. When you're a kid, 20-years-old sounds positively ancient. You're sure you'll know everything there is to know about life once you get to be twenty. But as you get closer to that age, it doesn't sound that old anymore. That's when 30 starts sounding rusty. Then you reach 30 and it doesn't feel quite as ancient as you thought it would. Same with 35, or 37. But 40, 40 always sounds old. And that's the thing: now that I'm hitting 40, it still sounds old.

I think that's partly because I have clear memories of my parents at this age. I was 13 when my mom turned 40 and 10 when my dad did. I know what life starts to look like after you hit forty. There are the physical signs--which are not there one day and then pop up everywhere like a game of whack-a-mole that you are swiftly losing: the wrinkles peaking out (no, seriously, you will get lines from where your face rests on your pillow), the joints are a bit creaky, days spent in the sunshine have left a signature of stubborn little sunspots. But that's not the big deal of 40. The real kicker is the shift in perception. Because let's be honest folks, if we are very lucky little suckers, this might be the halfway point in this grand adventure.

So... who do I want to be for the next forty? Who do you want to be?

I'll tell you what, I don't want to keep on down the path I'm going. There's some gunk that's taken root in me in the last handful of years, and I'm ready for a good de-gunking.

As a dear old friend told me: "You've lost your sunshine, Aims."

In this, my 40th year, I aim to get it back. 

So that's the game for my 40th year on this planet, folks. I'm going to set in motion my own Grand Becoming... stepping into that Amy I can be proud of for my next 40 years. Some of it will take creating a new me, some of it will take remembering who I used to be. All of it will have to happen within the confines of being a full-time mom, and that's not only a necessity, it's also purposeful. I want to prove it's possible to feed your soul while still being a decent parent.

I've made a list of things I've always wanted to do with an eye to what those things will cultivate in me as a person. February--my birthday month-- I'll attempt to take on several of them within the month. I'm going to bust out the remainder of those bad boys on the list in a more leisurely fashion. You, dear reader, are invited to watch the predictable discomfort/exhilaration/fun/failure from the comfort of your armchair. Or you can make your own list too, and take on your next forty.

Here's my list so far (in no particular order):

-Build a piece of furniture
-Be able to do a handstand
-Have a food fight
-Leave flowers on someone's doorstep anonymously
-Kayak to Glass Beach
-Go to frickin' Canada finally
-Be able to do a pull-up
-Sing or dance everyday
-Go to a senior facility and hear someone's stories
-Go rowing in the Strait
-Learn to play "Kathleen" on the piano
-Go to an aerial or silks class
-Write a love letter
-Knit a hat with (gasp!) circular needles
-Go to parkour class with my kids
-Meditate
-Write that kids book I've had in my head
-Walk the dog of someone who can't do so themselves
-Go paddle boarding
-Volunteer at the homeless shelter
-Do a yoga class weekly 

In addition to these there are two larger goals: in February, run a half-marathon each weekend; in the summer, complete a physical goal like hiking the Tahoe Rim Trail or a 14er as a fundraiser for Buiga Sunrise School in Uganda.

All of these things either, 1) are a tad bit out of my comfort zone or, 2) bring me unfettered joy. For each and every one of them, the end goal is only incidental to the journey.

There's a Ben Franklin quote I have used as my email signature line for as long as I can remember: "Either write something worth reading, or do something worth writing." I am hoping this challenge brings me both.