I turned 39 last week. The night before my birthday, Robert and I were on our post-dinner walk around the park (Zadie usually plays on the swings, giving us 8 minutes of opportunity for deep and meaningful conversation) when I confessed that I’d been feeling melancholy lately. “I just really don’t like myself,” I said. A weight lifted just from saying the words out loud, but Robert’s unruffled response surprised me: “You always kind of feel this way around your birthday.” I burst out laughing, embarrassed by the predictable pattern of my neuroticism. But also, I wondered, why do I get so down on myself around my birthday?
I used to LOVE my birthday. I loved parties, starting with my slip and slide party in the backyard when I was 4 years old. I had a bunny-themed party (we played pin the tail on the bunny, made bunny ear headbands with construction paper, and my sweet grandpa painted little whiskers on me and my friends), a decorate your own baseball hat with puffy paint and fabric rosettes party (very early 90s), a party at the local waterpark in middle school (?!?!), and countless pool parties. My sweet 16th was a 50s themed bash complete with a sheet cake bearing a black and white photo of James Dean with a talking bubble saying, “Joy, you get prettier every year!” (I’m pretty sure that was my very specific request.)
I loved being the center of attention on my birthday, feeling special and wearing a new outfit. I think the last birthday I felt that way, where I truly enjoyed it, was my 30th. We had just moved to Colorado but flew back home for a party with my family and friends on the rooftop of the Ace Hotel in downtown LA. Robert and I had just embarked on a new, exciting chapter in our lives, “trying out” living in a different state. We’d adopted our wonderful dog, Asher Lev, only two weeks earlier. I liked saying I was 30. The number somehow gave me a sense of gravitas.
The next year, I was early in my pregnancy on my birthday, feeling constantly queasy and pretty anxious about the looming transition to motherhood. And since then, birthdays have been, well, somewhat disappointing. The first few I was so attached to Zadie it was hard to get away and celebrate; I was still learning to integrate my identity as a mother into the rest of my identity and I really wasn’t sure how to do that. I wanted to have the special birthdays of my 20s, where I took the day off from work and basically did whatever I wanted, usually treating myself to lunch, a pedicure, maybe a movie. Now my time and attention were squeezed.
As I enter my late thirties, I’m getting better at integrating my identities as a mother, a writer, an individual; I’m getting better at having boundaries. But each birthday feels like a weight around my neck, or an unbearable pressure on my shoulders––it’s this sense of, “Are you there yet? Are you where you wanted to be as a person?” I have always been self-reflective on my birthdays, but in the past it felt like I had a lot more time to grow up, to become the person I wanted to be. There was plenty of time to try several career paths, to travel to dozens of countries, to write a book, to have a child, to nurture friendships, to become the best, most healed, most expansive version of myself.
But the thing about life that someone told me in my 20s (and I didn’t want to believe) is that life is like a river crossing, where you are hopping on rocks to get to the other side. And sometimes, when you choose one rock to hop to, it makes some other ones too far away, and those paths are now closed off to you. (Mind you, this was a PASTOR telling me this when I said I had applied to grad school and he said, “But don’t you want to get married and have a family?” I was 25. *Shakes fist at the patriarchy.*) But now I see the truth of it. Getting married, becoming a mother, choosing the career moves I have, buying a house in our town––these are all decisions that have opened up some paths but made other paths either impossible or just a lot less probable. Can we still live in another country someday, as I always hoped? Sure, it’s possible. But we’re also putting down roots in our small town on the eastern edge of LA County, and after three years here we’re finally seeing some signs of real community and budding friendships. It’s hard to throw that away for a family adventure in Europe (but don’t test me lol). So, compared to when I was 29, life just feels like it has a lot less options open to me. At 19, or even 25, I still felt like literally anything could happen, and that wide open limitlessness of youth, the mystery of where my life might take me, was so delicious.
Something about my late 30s is that I also hoped, as I mentioned a few months ago, that I’d be more evolved by now. I hoped I would be this gracious, wise woman who didn’t have old childhood issues still clinging to her; I hoped I would be the kind of woman who practices radical self acceptance, who isn’t worried about her weight or appearance, has settled into her signature style, and just in general knows what she wants and is unapologetic about it. I’ve had my moments like that––a few months ago I went to a Maggie Rogers concert alone and while I waited for the opening act to take the stage I sipped a gin and tonic and read a book on my Kindle, and I seriously did not care that I was that weird middle aged lady reading her Kindle alone at a concert. But those moments are few and far between, and in some ways I feel more insecure in myself, my preferences, and my appearance now than I did in high school.
I guess what I’m saying is, aging is a trip. It’s nothing like I thought it would be. I keep hearing that when women turn 40, they no longer care what people think of them. That feels a long way off, from where I stand peering over the edge of 39. I know it’s a privilege to age; it’s much better than the alternative. But each year now, there is so much lost, and so much gained. I’m grateful for my health, for the career I’ve built, the skills I’ve honed, the relationships I’ve nurtured, the words I’ve written. I’m grateful for (and sometimes maddened by) the little family I’ve built with Robert; on my good days I’m proud of it and all the other things I’ve accomplished.
At some point in adulthood, my birthdays switched from a time of celebrating myself to a time of judging myself, my choices, my trajectory. This little comic from Cup of Jo perfectly illustrates how I feel, with birthdays as a performance review and my inner critic as a pretty harsh boss. This year I want to keep getting curious about that inner critic; I want to learn to accept her but not let her drive the car. I want to put a party hat on her, hand her a piece of cake and say, “I know it’s not perfect, but you can still enjoy every bite.”
Articles
A Letter To My 15-Year-Old Self From My 25-Year-Old Self From The Perspective Of My Imagined 65-Year-Old Self Written By Me, A 43-Year-Old by Marisela Gonzalez (Slackjaw) - I mean, the title alone! But this piece also very humorously tackles how hard on ourselves we can be, and also how self-acceptance and self-compassion often come with age.
I Got to Watch My Husband’s Vasectomy and It Was the Best Day of My Life by Meaghan O’Connell (Romper) - This article cracked me up! She hilariously describes the satisfaction of finally being the passive bystander as her partner took on the discomfort (not even pain! and only 20 minutes or so!) for the sake of their reproductive choices. I think anyone who’s experienced pregnancy and childbirth might get a kick out of this.
Books
Louisiana’s Way Home by Kate DiCamillo - Why yes I am still on a Kate DiCamillo kick and I’m recommending another children’s book to you here. It’s the second in the trilogy that started with Raymie Nightingale, and it’s even better than the first. Just truly hits all the right notes for me.
Black Cake by Charmaine Wilkerson - This was 3/5 stars for me, but I recommend it because it was really perfect for summer. Easy to read and a lot of it takes place in the Caribbean, with a wonderful sense of place.
TV
Somebody, Somewhere - season 2 (Max) - This show is an absolute treasure. I wish I could watch an episode every single day. It’s just so charming and funny and down to earth and emotional and tender and sometimes a little raunchy. It’s about family and friendship and vulnerability. The second season was just as good—or better—than the first. I highly recommend it!
We’re also currently in the middle of a lot of series right now, including season 2 of The Bear (Hulu), season 2 of Swagger (Apple+), season 3 of For All Mankind (Apple+), and the Tour de France: Unchained (Netflix). On my own I’m watching the last season (sob) of Never Have I Ever and the second season of And Just Like That. Will report back!
Podcasts
Wiser Than Me - My friend Kristine recommended this to me and I cannot get enough! Julia Louis Dreyfus interviews women who are all older than 70-ish and every conversation is just fantastic. I also adore Julia’s opening stories, which tend to be really vulnerable and beautifully told, and then she ends every episode by calling her 89-year-old mother and rehashing the interview she just did. It’s wonderful. Standouts so far are Jane Fonda and Isabel Allende.
Sarah Silverman on Talk Easy - I have seen very little of Sarah Silverman’s work (unless you count the million times I’ve watched the two Wreck-It Ralph movies with Zadie), but for some reason I clicked play on this episode and really enjoyed it. She talks a lot about her father, who had passed away only weeks before recording this episode, and it’s just fascinating and very touching (and funny).
Product
My last water bottle/home tumbler bit the dust and after a bit of research I ordered the Owala Free Sip and I love it! It’s a good size (so many water bottles these days are comically massive). You can sip through the built in straw or gulp like a normal bottle (perfect for taking my zillion vitamins each morning), and it has a matte surface that doesn’t sweat or get too hot (like my metal Swell bottle). And it’s leak proof! I got the pretty mint color.
Wrapping Up
We are already close to the halfway mark of Zadie’s summer break and I can’t believe it. All of our trips (local desert and beach getaways) are already over and I’m looking forward to settling into a more low key rhythm with lots of pool time. Z has been loving Girl Scout Camp and I enjoyed having a slow few weeks, work-wise, in June but now I’m ramping up editing projects again and I’m having fun plotting the story for my next middle grade novel. What are you up to? How’s your summer going? If you traveled/are traveling to Europe, please keep that to yourself, the jealousy is eating me alive. Just kidding.
All Good Things,
Joy
Love your newsletter! And happy birthday!
I turned 39 earlier this year and was way more emotional on my bday than I expected. The days leading up I thought, “39 is no big deal!”
But then, the day of, I was way more in my head about it. 🫠