I turned forty this month, and earlier this summer, I read All Fours by Miranda July. (The two may not seem connected, but they are.)
July writes about midlife as a place full of possibility rather than diminishment, which surprised me. For a long time, I believed that real possibility had ended somewhere in my twenties—that every door had already been chosen or shut by age, parenthood, or just the exhaustion of trying to keep my head above water. But the book suggests that possibility doesn’t expire; it reshapes itself.
What really grabbed me most was the book’s cover. It gives me the sense of standing on the edge of something risky, about to step into the unknown. For much of my (younger) life, I felt like I was living in that exact place: teetering between thrill and terror, convinced that some life-altering shift was always just about to happen. I don’t live in that state anymore; I feel too “old” and settled. And still, I can’t stop staring at the cover. It pulls at me, maybe because it reminds me of a version of myself I’ve left behind but shouldn’t fully let go of.
Lately, I’ve also been diving into author interviews, searching for the ways writers talk about shaping their own paths. A quote from Taylor Jenkins Reid resonated with me:
“Nobody is going to show up and hand you the thing that you secretly want in the back of your head, which is for a long time what I was hoping would happen for me. Even in college, I think what I wanted on some level was to be in command of the story, but that wasn’t something I was going to seek out. I was going to put myself in the room and see if somebody saw something in me, but it doesn’t work that way.”
That hit me hard. Why have I wasted so many years waiting for someone else to see me, to hand me the thing I was quietly hoping for? At forty, I’m realizing how different it feels to admit that no one is coming with that gift. If I want something, I have to reach for it myself.
Which is partly why I made forty goals for this year. They aren’t huge or dramatic, and they’re not all tied to one ambition. Some are about writing, yes, but plenty spill into other corners of life. I could probably make a case for focusing on just one thing—publishing, for instance, or craft. But what I want is a sprawl of possibility, the freedom to try many things at once.
And so I keep coming back to that cliff on July’s cover. I don’t see it as a warning anymore. It looks more like a wide overlook, with the sun rising in the distance. Forty isn’t a plunge; it’s a perspective. From here, the horizon feels big again. The precipice has become a place to pause, to stand still, and to look outward.
Instead of a book recommendation this time, I want to share a song that embodies what I’ve been feeling lately…
“Could Have Been Me” first came out in 2013, and the Struts released a new version (with Brian May!) on my birthday. I couldn’t ask for a better gift!
This song has always hit hard for me, but this new version feels like it was created just to usher me into my 40s. (I know, I know: main character syndrome?)
Seriously, though - listen to it for yourself and tell me you don’t feel pumped up and grateful for everything.
Could Have Been Me by the Struts
Instead of a writing prompt, set a goal of something to accomplish over the next week. Not something on your To Do list. Something more like an artist date from The Artist’s Way, trying a new restaurant, or walking around without headphones on. Something to get out outside of your comfort zone. Who knows, maybe it will inspire writing on its own!
If you want to share what you did (and/or wrote), share it with me!