No, This is 40

When the idea of turning forty became a real possibility, I started consulting older friends for their advice on what to expect. Most of these trusted acquaintances, curiously, insisted that “fifty is the new forty” leading to the expectation that my forties would largely consist of denying that they were occurring in the first place.

I felt as if a more thorough exploration was warranted, so the last three years have involved sifting through everything this new decade has brought with it. Lessons have arrived in the form of failure, injury and more than a few wifely “I told you so” moments. But for the sake of y’all, I continued to age while taking copious notes.

Today, I offer a glimpse into what turning forty has actually been like. The good, bad and awkward. With some slight lifestyle modifications, I’ve found that this decade can be a pretty good time. Your definition of fun simply needs a little reshaping.

Organization

Do you know where all of your important stuff is? For ages, I lived a semi-organized life. Things generally went where they were supposed to go, most of the time. “This is a problem for future Matt” I would say as a wallet or key was tossed to an obscure location.

Then I tried to depart for our family vacation with an old passport. It was at the Delta counter where the look on my wife's face made it quite clear that I needed to tighten up a bit. Flying by the seat of my Birddogs wasn’t going to cut it anymore.

To nudge this husband-improvement along, my wife bought me a handy little tray; made of green leather with corners that button. When I enter the house, everything important goes there, without exception. It isn’t classing up our counter, but neither are the neon accessories it contains.

Bringing me to level two: making my stuff super hard to leave behind. Such an effort can only take hold once you genuinely free yourself from aesthetic concerns. Going with an obnoxious color means that your accessories will stand out if they happen to bounce out of the golf cart (twice) or get dropped in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot (once, allegedly). Your kids can also help, because they’ll love saying things like “Dad, you left your purple bag on the counter when you got excited picking out donuts.”

Lastly, having my own personal bag has been a revelation. To quote my wife “If I had known a murse would save me so much grief, I would have gotten you one a long time ago.” Rather than ask my beloved if she has a perfectly reasonable thing in her bag, then harumph in disappointment (as I’ve done for 17 years), I simply extract the needed item from my own bag without harshing everyone’s mellow. Game changer. There’s always a handkerchief ready to go and a snack in case my blood sugar gets low.

Now when I awake in the middle of the night, I’m not worrying about where my stuff is. I’m just fretting about not getting enough sleep.

Sleep

I love data, except for when it makes me look bad. My whole life, I was doing general math about how great my sleep was. Wake up time minus go to bed time with a pee breaks or two subtracted. Then I wore a tracker to bed for a few months. The real story was pretty damning. 

Turns out, my sleep was almost entirely devoid of actual quality. The scant time I spent in REM was alarming. Twenty-something me would have had a good laugh at this before pouring another cold one from our living room kegerator. But I could feel this kicking my butt. My lifestyle choices required an afternoon nap on the weekends or else I’d shuffle around the house in a state of annoyed semi-consciousness. It was bad for everyone.

Over time, I targeted various elements that were contributing to my restless nights: screen use, caffeine, alcohol, stress. Each had their run as a thoroughly tested variable. In the end, my results would not shock anyone. The twist was that I actually stuck to some changes. Why? That quality sleep became utterly irresistible. I was obnoxiously cheery in the mornings, telling everyone how “I didn’t even NEED coffee!” right before they sent me a look that told me where I could shove my zest.

Dedication to the cause did pay off with sleep patterns of a healthy person. My tracker app exploded with party GIFs as a string of unprecedentedly good nights continued to add up. Weekend naps became a thing of the past.

Without a doubt, there isn’t anywhere else I’d rather be when ten o’clock rolls around than snuggled up quietly in my own bed, which factually is the best bed on earth. There may be better mattresses, softer pillows, or finer thread counts. But the sleeping arrangement of anyone over forty contains a combo that can't be beat anywhere, to one’s own detriment. “Italy was delightful, but I sure did miss my bed!”

Speaking of, you know what else feels really good?

Warm it Up

For years now, my daily ritual has featured a flexible YouTuber named Adriene. Her yoga classes, for me, were the gateway to a feeling that can hardly be distilled into words.

Pose by pose, Adriene and I work our way through the process until we finally arrive in butterfly position, where my loins give way, hips open and all is wonderful in that moment. I groan with delight as every aging section of me is stretched to a delightful crescendo. It’s a feeling better than sex, drugs and rock & roll put together. Why didn’t anybody tell me about this?

I played tennis with a couple last week who suggested we skip the warmup. An impulsive laugh came out of me before hitting a casual forehand to the husband. I encouraged the thirty-nine-year-olds to enjoy their waning youth, because daily stiffness is about to hit them like a train. Thriving in the next decade requires a thorough limbering up prior to any strenuous activity. If not, you could run the risk of a fall.

A Proper Base

I quote Forrest Gump way too often, probably because of how much truth it contains. For instance, shoes really are the best gift you can give someone. When I was young, my interpretation of this advice was “Oh, because they’ll look good and feel confident in some new shoes.” However, now it is abundantly clear as I’ve aged that the real reason is “you can never be too careful.”

Gone are the days where generic kicks work for every application, because staying upright is somehow trickier than it used to be. I nearly fell over lifting dumbbells at the gym because I failed to register that running shoes are designed to go forward, not balance in place with extra weight upon them. When I later shared this near-miss with the wife, she was sure to yell “I told you so!” loud enough to where I retained her words this time.

Traction, support, breathability: these elements once took a sideline to looking cool or simply saving a buck, but no more. Here in my forties, I have a designated pair for every major application. They all still have laces, though. I stubbornly want to show off my ability to bend over for at least a few more years.

Howdy Neighbor!

My talents are few, but I can confidently say that I’m pretty good at driving carpool. After five years behind the wheel, I’ve only forgotten the kids one time. They were cool about it. Yet, they are never okay with me acknowledging anyone outside of our vehicle. If any boys happen to be passing our window, one “Howdy fellas!” from me is enough to embarrass my daughters for days. My dad did the same crap and I swore I wouldn’t but here I am loving it to pieces.

All the familiar drivers also get a wave on the loop each morning, then again in the afternoon. With all the big white, black and grey suvs looking roughly the same these days, I naturally got people confused. The first time was admittedly a bit awkward as I found myself being the embarrassed one. Eventually, though, one of these strangers waved back. It proved such a delight that now I do it on purpose.

Birds

Mark Zuckerberg and I are the same age, so I feel partially responsible for how things have gone down. When I joined up with my .edu email address back in college, social media was good for jokes and finding available ladies. Nobody took it too seriously. There seemed to be an understanding that things would continue to be chill. The real world, we told ourselves, was still vastly more interesting than what displayed on our pre-iPhone devices.

Surprise! We were the product all along. Totally not chill. And such good products we have become. Try putting that phone down now that your life is unquestionably tethered to it. 

My efforts to disconnect began with brute force - never allowing myself to be still long enough to focus on anything. I simply didn’t sit down. This lifestyle was not only unsustainable, it was also a bit disturbing to onlookers. 

For sanity’s sake, there had to be periodic moments throughout my day where I sat down and found restorative content for my senses. The wife, once again proving to be incredibly wise, found a desk for our porch where I could get cozy and write outside. Once I finally sat still and shut up long enough, an amazing thing happened.

From the trees sprang a variety of little songs and flutters that had previously been only background noise. As I relaxed into my daily sessions out of doors, particulars of each little bird began to register as more distinct, memorable. I was hooked as soon as I learned we had a Titmouse. A whole family of Titmice, in actuality. Precious.

Nature always seems to call around sunrise these days, which is fine with me. No matter where we are, I get up before everyone and make my way outside. With quiet enthusiasm, I open the phone and go straight to my favorite app, one of the few that remain outside of basic utilities. 

I’m usually smiling before anything registers, because my ear picks up a hint of the unfamiliar. When Merlin confirms there’s a new species nearby, I am genuinely throttled. The next hour will be spent quietly keeping an eye out for our new friend while I jot down notes from the previous day. 

It’s funny thinking about what I did for the first four decades, because this right here is good living.