47

When I turned 40 I stumbled into a dark depression that lasted for 3 solid months. I was sure I was on a downhill slope, that the best of life was behind me, that I'd peaked without realizing I'd been there, and that'd I'd never do anything great or important or meaningful again.

I was wrong.

Growing up, 40s to me was old. Staid. A blip in the journey from adulthood to decrepit. From the vantage point of a teenager, 47 meant conformity, monotony, polyester pants and fondue dinner parties. Once you settled into the routine of your life, nothing changed. Ever.

I was wrong about that too.

Today is my 47th birthday. 13 days ago I did just about about the greatest thing I've done so far. I could only have donated a kidney if I was in the best of health, at the top of my game. I know I will heal from this stronger than ever. And, knowing my track record, I'll be doing something new and different on the other side of this.

No coordinated slacks sets in site.

This year I also got my nose pierced, was a PTA president for the first time, rescued not one, but two amazing puppies, and was able to do a headstand in the middle of a yoga studio.

Yes, there are furrows carved deep into my forehead that will be with me forever. Yes, the skin on my inner elbows is turning crepe-ier by the day. And yes, I will never, ever, wear shorts above my knees again (one withering look from Iz shut that door). But this aging body of mine just changed someone's life in a positive, profound way.

As I heal from this surgery, I know there will be ups and downs. Knowing me, how could it be any other way. But, from the other side, I am nothing but grateful that, at this point in my life, I'm not stooped and wizened, but powerful and on the verge of more.

47 is a place I'm thrilled to be.