Almost forty, and I feel on edge.

A shadow of dread whispers—too late, too old.

The mirror reveals a body reshaped,

My mind reveals insecurities buried deep.

And then I fall, I submerge.

A pulsing flock, a sanctuary of sound,

Where melody lifts, and vibration carries.

No thoughts, no ego, just flow.

Spinning in the rhythm,

Time fades, the questioning self dissolves.

The bass thrums deep, a heartbeat reborn.

Jumping, smiling, I forget the worn edges of time.

No years, no limits—I float.

I am weightless—held in the melody's electrifying embrace.

Here, there is no age, no expectations,

Only elation, only life, only now.

Turning 40 felt like a paradoxical mix of dread and excitement. Some of that dread centered around fears of changing shape as my metabolism slows, feeling exposed to the world as a childless person, and grappling with the deeply personal shadow of my biological father’s early death before his 40th birthday. That milestone, for reasons I still don’t fully understand, had always loomed large in my mind, influencing how I thought about my own life expectancy and filling this threshold moment with both grief and the possibilities of transcendence.

To mark the occasion, I decided to lean into what brings me joy: good music, good friends, and good drinks (nonalcoholic, of course). The night kicked off with my tribe gathered around a table, a mix of drinks in hand. I personally opted for Lagunitas Hoppy Refresher and Hits cold brew, knowing that I would be staying up way past my usual bedtime.

We laughed, we clinked glasses, and yes, I aired out some of my "Oh-my-god-I’m-turning-40" angst. My friends, ever the sages, reminded me that part of my angst came from societal expectations that I wasn’t bound by. By acknowledging some of my deep-seated fears and sharing their own, I felt less alone and supported.

Fueled by their support (and caffeine), I marched into the club like I owned the place. The bass hit me like a pulse of possibility, a beat that pulled me out of my overthinking and into the moment. Surrounded by the dancing crowd, I let go. I wasn’t just turning 40; I was transcending it, one euphoric step at a time.

The magic of the night wasn’t just the music or the buzz of the crowd; it was choosing to leave my worries at the door and immerse myself in the beat. Dancing isn’t just movement; it’s therapy. It’s a reminder that life happens in the here and now, not in the endless loop of "what ifs" playing in our heads.

As the clock struck midnight, and I officially crossed into my (gasp!) 5th decade, I felt a strange but beautiful calm. I’d embraced the energy, the music, and the tribe that made me feel alive. And in that moment, I wasn’t thinking about what came before or what came next; I was simply there.

Cheers to fully living in the moment, with a can of liquid death in one hand and a future full of beats in the other.