This is 40. Forty is the middle child in the life cycle. Now you are expected to just do your job, pay your bills, and maintain a healthy relationship all without any pats on the back or celebrations. When you succeed, people just say, “So what? That’s your responsibility.” When you fail, people say, “Why don’t you act your age!” With this realization, you keep your head down and just do what you have to. Forty is being content with having a small circle of friends and intimates and not caring about meeting new people. This is because meeting new people takes time away from the things I really care about – such as lounging on my sofa and binge watching Netflix. New people are more trouble than they are worth, and who has the time to get to know them anyway. Forty is realizing that you’ve worn the same outfit for the last ten years because the idea of shopping for new clothes is about as appealing as stabbing your eyes with needles. Forty is accepting that your body can only get worse with each passing year. No matter how much you exercise or watch your diet, your body is naturally breaking down. Things start hurting for no reason and never stop hurting. It is going to the doctor’s office with a cranky knee and expecting him to tell you, “We can fix this with some fancy surgery,” but instead getting, “Well, this is just how it is. You have a bad knee.” He prescribes you some hospital-grade aspirin and tells you to get out. Forty is also not ever being as plugged in to what’s “cool” in the same way you were when you were twenty. Back then, you could stay up to date just by hanging out with friends, but now staying “hip” is almost like doing research and work. And that’s not fun. It is my Steam account that has 300 new games that I have never played. Instead, I keep replaying Dragon Age and Mass Effect for the twelfth time instead. The new seems to frighten me. This is 40. This is me. Now.