I just had a slightly terrifying realization:
In less than six months, I will be 40 years old.
I say “slightly” because I’m not exactly obsessing over it. In actuality, the realization I had was really the first time I had thought about it since I turned 39 last December.
Still, though… the number alone is daunting.
Forty years. Why does that seem like such a huge number?
Forty years. That’s four decades.
480 months.
2,080 weeks.
14,610 days.
350,400 hours.
(Deep breath)
22,024,000 minutes.
(Take that, “Seasons of Love.”)
Eight presidents.
Ten Leap Years.
And so on…
So yeah, it’s a lot to process (and I apologize if my math is bad– I’ve never been great with math).
But I’ll be okay. I mean… I don’t feel a day over 30. Heck, I still feel 20-something.
I’m not afraid of 40. At least not right now.
After all, I still have six months to enjoy my 30s. And enjoy ’em I will!
Rick's Launching Pad 
I feel all of that. When I hit 39, much to my surprise my midlife crisis kicked in. Through my head went the realization that everything I expected, dreamed, or wanted to be by the age of 40 was not about to happen in the next 12 months. They past year has been tough while I worked (and continue to work) that out. But at least I know 40 won’t come as quite as bad a shock now. On the other hand, as a result I’ve felt 40 for a whole year in advance. I give you a lot of credit for taking the opposite tack and enjoying your latter 30s!