Reflections on the First Forty

Only a few hours left of my thirties. You naturally look back over your life when you hit a big landmark. I look back and seem to see, to misappropriate the Bible, 40 years spent wandering in the wilderness.

Am I or am I not looking forward to turning 40? I think I am. The last half of my thirties was pretty terrible, so I’m not too sad to see them go. And while I realise that a birthday doesn’t mean anything practically – we drag most of our problems along with us – the hardest times have taught me a lot of lessons – and we take those with us, too.

If I’d come across an old Magus, say, when I was leaving high school, and he’d told me, “This is what you will be like at 40:  you will never have had another boyfriend, or even a date; you won’t have found a “tribe” of friends who share your views and interests; you won’t have had a career even close to the one you wanted; you’ll be on the disability pension and so unwell that you will weigh twice as much as you do now; you’ll be living back in your parents’ house; you’ll have reached none of your goals besides doing a little travel; you still won’t have seen America (well, none of it outside of Manhattan) or the south of France; you won’t have sung or played music, danced or acted publicly in a few years and likely never will again; you’ll have short grey hair and a wardrobe straight from Big W and Best & Less . . . oh, and you’ll still have acne” – well, that Magus would probably have had to commit me right there and then.

Back then, all I thought about was the future, because it was the 90s and we were taught that we could be whatever we wanted to be, that life would be a big adventure, and that if we worked hard in the little things, the big things would naturally come our way.

Hmm . . . not so much.

The hope kept me going back then, but it’s gone now.

Actually, that’s not quite true.  That kind of misplaced hope has gone now – and good riddance.

Because the Magus would have left out some important things. 

§   You will know that life is usually pretty boring, sometimes pretty terrible, but that means you don’t have to perform, perform, perform to strive for unattainable goals.  You don’t have to be perfect, or even particularly good at any one thing.  The pressure is off.  You can’t do it, and that’s OK.  Jesus did.  You can’t buy that true freedom.

 

§   You will have taken great leaps forward in your understanding of how to read the Bible.  You will now understand the difference between exegesis and eisegesis (and narcegesis!) and see how wrongly you’ve been taught certain things over the years.  Your love for reading it will grow.

 

§    You will understand that most people don’t actually give a rat’s ass about you.  They’re not thinking about you; they’re thinking about themselves, and they’ll walk all over you to promote themselves.  The good thing is, you don’t have to worry all the time about what they think of you – because chances are they don’t.  You’ll have learned to spot the rare ones that do care – like veins of gold.  Hang on to those family members and friends, and be good to them.

 

§    You will have learned that, although you’re sick and poor, it doesn’t mean you’ve missed it or you didn’t have enough faith.  Paul was both sick and poor, many times, and he was probably the greatest of the Apostles.

 

§  You’ll have been a mature-aged student at university and found whole new passions – not just songwriting, which you’ve always loved, but poetry and prose and world-building and convergence theory and the psychology of celebrity culture and cults and the catharsis of horror movies and beautiful cinematography and the dangers of wellness culture and the wonder of great adaptations and the magnetism of Batman and the Joker and the craft of the Marvel Cinematic Universe and other genre movies/novels and the intricacies of fan communities and fan production . . .

 

§    You will know that “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” doesn’t mean you can do everything you set out to; it means you can be satisfied with what God has given you, both good and bad, because it’s only temporary.  Only that realisation will bring peace.

 

§    You will be well on your way to appreciating what you do have instead of wanting what you don’t.

 

§    You and your family will be getting along better than you ever have.

 

§    You will know the joy of being an auntie to the greatest little girl in the world.

 

§    You will have seen more of the planet than many people will ever see in their lifetimes.

 

§    You will have met some wonderful, creative, passionate and interesting people.

 

§  You will have found real homes and churches in two beautiful cities, London and Chichester.

 

§    You will be in the process of learning how to write without having to get it perfect before you put it out there.

 

§    You will get to make some money doing one thing that you love – editing.  No longer do you have to sit in an open-plan office with fluros glaring and phones ringing constantly, fighting off social anxiety and pain every second of every day.

 

§   You will have gotten to fight for millions of girls and women all over the world who have been mutilated or who are at risk of being mutilated because of a tradition that nobody can give a clear reason for.

 

§   You will get to play mama to a wild, unpredictable, silky-coated, energetic tortie furball who helps you get through the lonely days (and sometimes even pretends to love you).

 

§   You will have learned the value of simply sitting down in a café with those rare good friends – who come in a variety of shapes, sizes, colours, marital statuses, age-ranges and backgrounds.  Most of your closest friends you’ve known for decades and may not have fully appreciated until recently; most of them are not the ones you would have expected.  Some of them you can only visit by email, but every one of those emails is treasured.

 

§    You will have begun to understand what the sovereignty of God really means, and how to let go of the things that He doesn’t want for you and embrace the things He does.

 

I don’t know how my life would have looked if it looked like I wanted it to—

That sentence made sense in my head before I typed it.

What I mean is, if all my dreams had come true, would my life have looked good on the outside while I was actually a spiritual mess?  Perhaps.  Probably.  I can’t honestly say that, given the choice between the two paths, I’d have made the right decision.  I guess that’s why the Bible tells us not to enquire about our futures.  If we knew what they were, we’d undoubtedly find ways to mess them up more profoundly.

Walking without knowing is the true definition of faith, no matter what the prosperity preachers try to tell you.  Trusting that God is sovereign and knows what He’s doing – it's a good thing someone does, right?

Here’s to the next 40 or 50 or 60 years.  What is there to worry about?  Life has only just begun, and they haven't committed me yet!