08/24/2026
Grateful feels like a shallow word for the privilege of turning 40.
Not just grateful for the number, but for everything that comes with it.
For these people.
For this life.
Somewhere along the way, I realized I was living my own version of A Pirate Looks at Forty — maybe with a little less w**d and booze than Jimmy Buffett’s version.
In my version, I find myself a little older, a little wiser, carrying some scars, a few stories, and a much deeper appreciation for the simple, extraordinary fact that I’m still here.
Five years ago, I had a pretty close brush with death.
There has been so much life on the other side of that moment. But there has also been loss. Grief. Things I’ve shared, and things I’ve carried quietly, tucked away in places most people will never see.
Maybe you carry something similar.
Maybe there are things you’ve lived through that changed you in ways the people around you will never fully know.
Thankfully, in my case, what could have been a breaking point became a turning point.
And somewhere in the aftermath, I learned to pay attention.
To live a little more intentionally.
To notice the beauty.
To hold my people a little closer.
To remember that none of this is promised.
And when an opportunity comes knocking, I’ve learned to recognize it while it’s still standing there (or try to at least), rather than waiting for the timing to feel perfect or for life to feel completely figured out.
Facing your own mortality will do that to you.
Because life can be painful. Messy. Complicated. Completely unfair.
But it can also be wildly, ridiculously beautiful.
When you realize how many people never get the chance to grow older, to watch their kids grow up, sit around the table with the people they love, have ordinary Tuesday nights, make plans for next summer, or complain that their kids never turn off the damn lights, you start to understand that even the mundane is a privilege.
So every curve life has thrown me, every gray hair, every laugh line, every dimple of cellulite I’ve earned...
I’m learning to embrace them.
They are evidence that I’m still here.
That I lived.
Loved.
Worried.
Danced.
Carried babies.
Traveled.
Made mistakes.
Kept going.
I’m also learning to reject the idea that my best years are somewhere behind me, disappearing in the rearview mirror. Anyone who was a teen in the early 2000s knows what a difficult task this can be.
Maybe they aren’t behind me.
Maybe they’re out there somewhere, just beyond the horizon.
Like Jimmy, I find myself wondering aloud to mother, mother ocean about what comes next..
Not because I have any idea what’s coming, but because I’m finally more comfortable with the idea that I don’t need to.
I want to keep walking toward a life that scares me just a little. Toward dreams that feel too big, too far away, maybe even a little ridiculous, but somehow keep finding their way into reality.
I want to keep saying yes to the unknown. Keep taking the risks. Keep stepping through the door before I know exactly what’s on the other side.
Because if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that life is far too short to let fear have all the fun.
And if you’re in my life, I’m glad you’re here.
Thank you for being part of this ride. For cheering me on. For believing in me. For loving me through all the messy, beautiful, ordinary, extraordinary parts of it.
I am so, so lucky.
So here’s to 40.
To getting older.
To getting softer in some places and stronger in others.
To collecting scars and stories.
To taking the risks.
To saying yes before the timing feels perfect.
To chasing the dreams that scare us.
And to embracing the fact that even if you’re an over-40 victim of fate, arriving too late, you’re right where you’re supposed to be.
