My days are numbered.

It’s my birthday. I am 40. My days are numbered.

Forced to face this milestone birthday, I examine my own mortality with the enthusiasm and vigor of a curbside prophet. The end is near! Make peace with your God on this your fortieth year!

A vibrant white hair sprouts on cue as I stare into a foggy bathroom mirror, critically assessing the damage. The aging process has begun. I’m slowing decomposing one hair follicle at a time. Fuckers.

I stretch the corners of my eyes up then down, counting crows feet. How bad is it really?

I can still do most of the same stuff I did 20 years ago, it just hurts now. Hangovers last three days. Workout gear includes Advil and BioFreeze. Tight skirts require spanx and a prayer. My face sags in a weird way that blends a once pretty chin into what can only be described as neck fat. A big night out ends at 10:15.

At this rate, I’ll be lucky to see 42. The thought gives me pause. What if I really only had two years left? Would I do anything differently?

Would I make different decisions about life, relationships, finances, focus if my days were numbered?

Spoiler—Yes. Yes to all of it. A bottle of wine led to intense introspection and the following ah-ha moments:

I’m tired. I’ve been continuously employed since 1994. One and two jobs at a time. Through high school, college, motherhood. Countless hours, countless jobs. At 40, I’m tired. Maybe you can relate.

I give zero fucks. No opinion of me is more important than my own. It’s an incredibly freeing feeling that I can only assume comes with age and exhaustion.

There’s other things I want to do. If I die and all I have to show for it is a healthy 401k, I will roll over in my fucking grave. There are things I want to do and be that are suffocating at the bottom of a long list of obligations. At what point do those take priority?

Therefore, I’m retiring. Retirement is meaningless. People are living longer. The cost of healthcare is so prohibitive, people are working longer too. Moreover, the aging Boomer population will deplete Social Security at a rate that can’t possibly be made up by following generations. A hard stop on working at age 65 is unrealistic. Living a debt free life is unrealistic. Spending your days commoditizing projects that make you happy, however, could be a sustainable view of retirement. I therefore declare that I’m retiring at 40. Why wait?

And doing my own thing. A fully evolved life combines your experience, passion, and skills. Stay tuned for project announcements in the coming months. And, visit the Services page—I’d love to help you with your passion projects, too!  

Open a bottle of wine and take stock. Enjoy!