To Joanne, young and fearful

"Life begins at 40. Everything before that was research." -Carl Jung

So this is it – the 40s years –the landmark period when one is officially middle-aged. I remember walking across the field during my primary school days, a wide patch of soft blades that connected the classrooms and the music hall – when an urge to make a pact with myself transpired. Remember this moment, I told myself. Because you are young, remember this moment. Keep it as you would a treasure and unwrap it years from now when you are a grown-up. Then come back to the girl on the field and tell her what it feels like to be older. No. I am being politically correct and in so doing, I am lying to my readers. I did not use the word "older" I used the word "old." When you are 13 years young you look at your mother as the benchmark of age. You are fluid with the juices of vibrancy and potential. You can’t wait to hit 18. You will be cruising at 20. The years after that decade are, at the moment, the stuff of urban legends – too distant and abstract to ever happen to you.

Ten months before my 40th birthday, I had planned the transition as intensely as a bride would map out her wedding day. The rite of passage would take place on a yacht in Hong Kong with a handful of people that I held dear. There would be too much exquisiteness on that day to feel old. There would be such an upsurge of loving support that I would feel no pain. We cruised to the edge of mainland China. I sat on the deck watching the yacht’s motor churn the water into milk before hurling it back to the sea.

To those who anticipate their forties with much trepidation, I say unto you: go where life’s passion takes you. To each of us the Fates have blessed with Divine Purpose and with this gift the talent to fulfill such purpose. It may be to heal the sick, to play the flute or to be the most endearing ticket attendant in a bus station. It doesn’t matter what the job is. Not everyone is called to be the President of the nation and someone has to teach pre-schoolers, do social service or flip burgers at Jollibee. Prestige and public opinion be damned. There will be those that have to postpone their dreams for the demands of reality and there will be those that in midstream realize that they have traversed into the wrong channel. To them I impress on the need for courage and faith.

To the 40-year-old comes the abundant gift of wisdom; the ability to go through actions that had vexed you during your younger years with newfound ease. You see no point in looking like a Beach Babe and are happy to segue into the role of District Attorney for a few more decades until one day you wake up finding yourself playing the lead role in Driving Miss Daisy – and this will be fine, too. You look at your hips that no longer fit skinny jeans and the torso that is neither flat nor firm and instead of feeling a wave of panic; you appreciate your body for having carried and nurtured your children. The cellulite on the sides of your belly is proof of the accommodations it has instinctively endured to make your womb a safer place for the ever-changing needs of its special tenant. When once there could have been frustration, there now is gratitude.

You look at your children and cannot imagine how life was without them, how in fact, the world and its cares had meant relatively nothing until now. And all of a sudden, it is not the temporal fashions and whims of youth that sustain you but the gravity in stewardship of the life entrusted upon your new role as mother, wife, woman and protector that gives purpose and makes you whole.

I survey the plain of middle age and find a treasure trove of opportunities for learning and for sharing. To be idealistic, optimistic, even giddy at my middle-age! Oh what a treat! I speak with the same cadence and intensity as I had in my youth. But the words come out differently and with newfound conviction that only experience can make one a reliable authority of. I have traded my sprinter’s shoes for those of a long distance runner. I no longer choose to gasp for breath but command the wind to ebb and flow in peaceful cadence through my lungs.

I look upon that child, standing transfixed on the patch of grass that for all I know has, through the years, been paved by concrete. If I told her that the best of life is yet to come, would she believe me? If I told her that the peace and empowerment that wisdom and experience bestow only makes a woman more beautiful, would she grasp the concept? How can one explain the charisma of wit and compassion to that tweener who holds Malibu Barbie as her aesthetic ideal? How can I convince her that one does not wither in the vine at middle age; that the grapes in fact grow sweeter with time? I wish she would pause from her fear long enough for me to tell her that in the mysterious sea that is her future, the possibilities are endless, the convictions calmer in their intensity, guided with wisdom and tempered by experience. It is a beautiful stage in your existence to be (as you perceive) "old" my dear Joanne. Jump into the sea with passion and purpose. The water is just fine!