If I’m honest, I’m preparing for the hit pretty well. Outwardly, at least, I’m nonchalant about the thought of entering my fifth decade. “FIFTH DECADE? Wait a minute, I didn’t see THAT in the small-print! Ahem. AS WE WERE.” Yes, at face value, I’m pretty relaxed about it. Not a big deal. Just a number. All that nonsense.
Beneath the surface, of course, I’m shrieking like a seven-year-old girl who’s just had her vintage Barbie beheaded by the family dog. “WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!” I scream. “Is there any way back?! Am I going to lose a body part with each passing year from here?! HELP ME!”
But wait. Doesn’t life BEGIN at 40? Phew. That sounds a little more reasonable. Maybe there’s still hope, after all. Though it does beg the question: “What the heck have we been doing for the first 40 years if life’s only beginning NOW?”
To try and figure out exactly WHY life begins at 40, I’ve conducted some extensive online research. It was on a totally unrelated subject – flight prices for Boston – but I always find the answer miraculously POPS into my head if I procrastinate. I call it Progressive Procrastination.
What I found (from my extensive… time surfing Expedia.ca), is that the phrase ‘Life Begins at 40’ essentially translates to:
“If you’ve screwed things up so far, you get to START AGAIN… AFRESH! Forget about all that other crap; those 747-sized bloopers. This is a clean slate. And the only way is up. However, if you f*** things up from here, I want no part of it! You’re on your own, kid. You’ve had 40 years to learn what NOT to do, so get out there and DO the OTHER/RIGHT things, dammit!”
I had a hunch that’s what it meant, but...
To read the rest of this column, check out BC Johnny's upcoming book: Chilled Almonds.