So I must confess that I'm turning 40 soon and it is getting to me. It's fair to say that I've been here before, but this time feels a bit more daunting.

When I turned 30 I was a little disappointed. I was in a strange place in my life where I went to university about a decade later than most folks and most of the friends I made were significantly younger than me. This wasn't too big a deal for most things, the disconnect was minimal due to my matching neurodivergence and my understanding of some of the more dickish qualities that go with being someone in their early 20s.

I didn't see myself any differently than the other folks around me, but I did get nervous as 30 crept up. I felt a tiny bit of embarrassment to still be in college at that age, but also was just cognitively aware that we all go through life at our own pace.

My 30th birthday party was a lovely time, I spent it with all my friends at OSU in my apartment I shared with my dear friend Kelsey. I got really drunk off two shots of brandy. I wrote encouraging notes to everyone, one was practically a confession of unconditional love to my best friend who still keeps the note among her sentimental treasures.

Afterwards, things felt normal. I mean, why wouldn't they? I still hung out with everyone, still continued along on my silly little life at my own pace. I had a little issue here and there feeling depressed and out of place, something that was taken advantage of by one person, but ultimately I found myself among my people after the toxic elements in my life removed themselves and the good things stayed.

Ultimately I felt like I came to figure out how to achieve some control over my life in my 30s. And then 2020 happened. And then it took me a long time but I came to figure out how to achieve some control over my life. Again.

Part of me fears that spiral, that repetition of having to reassert myself again and again, maybe never really truly and permanently winning. But nothing in this world is permanent so I guess it's just par for the course.

I find myself here again, all these years later. I've made a decent life for myself ultimately. Still have my friends, with a few lovely additions and a few sad goodbyes. I don't know why 40 should have me feeling insecure.

I guess part of me feels like this is the beginning of old age. I've noticed more white hairs than I used to, though they come and go with my general level of stress, for which there is no shortage of in America currently. I'm in great shape, but sometimes I can't help but notice how easy it is to pull something.

Or maybe I'm just feeling like I haven't achieved enough? Forty years and all I have to show for it is my impeccable dress sense and an encyclopedic knowledge of cartoons and videogames? And that's a damn bit more than a lot of 40 year olds out there.

I guess this civilization has a tendency to bring out insecurity. After all, the entire economy and social structure runs on it. Gotta fit into some boxes or else there's something undesirable about you. How does one sell themselves to a society that has such a narrow definition of deserving.

Well we all know I don't believe that everything needs to be for sale, especially not me. I think the concept of deserving is not usually a helpful one, and it's usually just there to string people along on the marketplace of guilt. So much of the negative reinforcement of this culture is about depreciating the value of its inhabitants to keep the social structure intact.

I'm not a big fan of going on these big socialist rants, I always feel like I'm complaining about the tips of icebergs and then just fall into some circular logic. Our world is pretty flawed. We have a lot of fascinating things our brains do that folks have managed to exploit to maintain their social order, and it's hard to imagine it going a different way but it can.

My folks had me when they were 40. I always figured I'd think about kids when I got to around this age. And I find myself sad that it isn't on the table. I've made a good life for myself in spite of the mental illness and the toxicity of civilization, but both being a constant concern makes me unwilling to have a child. There's enough trauma to go around as it stands.

I guess part of me assumed I would be able to balance the problems of this world and the problems of my brain by this point. I'm always making progress, and I just figured when I was younger that eventually it would just build up.

And it very much has. I look at myself now, at the little ways I've improved myself and my life over the years and I smile. I can hold myself as a member of that elusively elite class, the mentally and emotionally stable; I look at the things that don't upset me anymore and can't even remember why some things would get under my skin so badly.

Cognitive and dialectical behavioral therapy works wonders if you keep at it. Finding hobbies, finding some way to fall in love with the world is transformative.

Yeah I look at myself now and all I can think is how epic I must be to get here. And yet, it's still just me. Is that a disappointment?

People always say we've got all the time in the world. That's what I've said about all my self improvement. But the time ticks away regardless, doesn't it?

Sometimes I feel pretty lonesome, like maybe I should be somewhere else with someone else doing something else. Couldn't tell you what.

Why does 40 feel like I'm running out of time?

I mean, if this insecurity is like every other one I've ever had, it's the sort of thing I'll forget was even a problem in a few years. Or even a few months.

In his last days, my Dad used to say "I've got all the time in the world" whenever my Mom tried to rush him off somewhere. I think about that a lot.

I spoke with a friend about some of my insecurity fairly recently. About how I felt achievement-free as I approach a milestone. She was a bit flabbergasted at what the hell I could be talking about.

I could list all the things I am disappointed by. But even a cursory glance at such a sad list yields more frustration at the economy we have more than lamentations as to my supposed quality as a human being. All things considered, a person like me living the life I am right now after what I've been through is already statistically and narratively unlikely.

I suppose at its core I feel restless. As the winter carries on I find myself with a directionless yearning.

It's frustrating to be patient and wait for someone like me who prefers to press forward and find some way to see my ambitions through. Regardless of what would be good for me, my best options are to keep up my exercises, recover from the winter blues, and figure out what kind of life I'd like to live when the weather is warm enough to allow any life at all.

So I guess while I wait for that big four-zero to descend on me, I just am going to try and remember how far I've come. And how far I have yet to go. I still have all the time in the world, I suppose.