What Are Some Things You Realize as You Get Older?

Let me tell you, hitting my late 30s has been like someone swapped my morning coffee with a shot of clarity. Last month, I was scrambling to hang fairy lights for my daughter’s “unicorn garden” birthday party (in the rain, because Midwest weather loves a plot twist). As I stood there soaked, wrestling with tangled wires, it hit me: Why am I stressing over Pinterest-perfect magic when she’d be thrilled with Dollar Tree glow sticks and a mud puddle?

Here’s the big thing nobody tells you: Time warps faster than a TikTok trend. In my 20s, I burned the midnight oil chasing promotions at a corporate job that treated work-life balance like a myth. I missed my best friend’s wedding for a client call. Skipped vacations. Ate more Lean Cuisines than I care to admit. Then, one Tuesday, my dad called to say his cancer was back—and just like that, I realized “hustle culture” was a Ponzi scheme. These days? I clock out at 5 PM sharp. My boss gets my Excel skills; my kids get my heartbeat.

Mistakes stop being monsters and start being mentors. Take my DIY phase. Oh man—the time I tried to remodel our bathroom with YouTube tutorials and a hubris-powered toolkit? Let’s just say the toilet rocked like a porch swing for six months (Pro tip: Flex Seal can’t fix everything). But that disaster taught me to laugh at my own ambition and call a pro when it matters. Now I’ve got a sweet handyman named Ray on speed dial and zero shame about it.

Friendship isn’t a numbers game. In college, I measured my worth by how many people showed up to my parties. These days? My inner circle fits around a firepit. There’s Jen, who brings me soup when I’m sick. Dave, who talks me off the ledge during parenting meltdowns. We don’t do “likes” or group chats—we do 2 AM texts that say, “You good?” That’s the stuff that holds you together when life gets wobbly.

And health isn’t vanity—it’s survival. I used to think “self-care” was a bubble bath and a face mask. Then I spent a decade ignoring lower back pain until I herniated a disc trying to carry groceries and a toddler up the stairs. Now? I’m that person doing pelvic tilts in the Target parking lot. I meal prep (sort of—Trader Joe’s frozen section is my sous chef). I walk the dog instead of binge-watching Netflix. It’s not glamorous, but neither is adult diapers.

Oh, and you stop apologizing for what makes you weird. Last summer, I started birdwatching. Not the sexy, binoculars-and-safari-hat kind—I’m talking standing in my pajamas at dawn, arguing with blue jays over my sunflower seeds. My neighbor once caught me mid-conversation with a particularly sassy cardinal. She looked at me like I’d grown antlers. But you know what? That bird’s morning chatter brings me more peace than any meditation app ever did.

Here’s the kicker: None of this clicked overnight. It’s like those “Magic Eye” posters from the mall in the ’90s—you stare at the chaos until suddenly, the hidden shape snaps into view. So if you’re feeling stuck in the messy middle, hang tight. Buy the weird hobby kit. Cancel plans to nap. Text the friend you haven’t seen since 2017. Life’s too short for “shoulds.”

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with that cardinal. His name’s Steve. (Don’t ask.)