Magazine for Your Forties

Am crushing the perimenopause hard in my late 40s… it’s like everything turned upside down over night. The 40s we’re pretty good until perimenopause!!

Well if everyone is ready for it, I’m hearing from ALOT of people that 50-70 is the most productive, fulfilling period of life. Think about it – worked out all (some) of your your sh_t, don’t really care what people think anymore, not clawing desperately out of the ageing pit because, hey, its already happened haha. I’m 46, have really enjoyed my forties so far on an existential level, despite facing some difficult circumstances and I’m solidly looking forward to ageing with less f_cks to give!

I feel seen and I’m not sure I like it lol. But I am much happier in my 40th year than I have been in any other part of my life so I can’t complain.

Okay people, I have news for you. Forties can be the best years of your life if you don’t spend them worrying about it. When you hit sixty you will wonder what all the fuss was about. I hit seventy last year and that is supremely depressing, but when I hit eighty I will reminisce about the good old days when I was 70.

My spin is “pursuing real estate in the place I live but still can’t afford and feeling like I won’t be able to own a home until I’m 60” (I’m 38.)

I maintain that Harry Styles is universally appealing to middle aged women (and probably men too).

Would highly recommend the newsletter Gloria for the 40+ crowd! “Gloria is a weekly newsletter and media company for women who aren’t yet old, but aren’t still young. It’s for women embarking on midlife and those who are curious about what the future holds. What does aging look like when you still feel 25?” https://www.hellogloria.com/

I just used my phone to check for food in my teeth right before I browsed to Cup of Jo to read this. Sigh.

My last year of my thirties begins in 21 days, and I’ve already started this stuff. Especially looking at houses I can’t afford in places I’d love to live.

My grocery-shopping ego wrote a check my one small, flimsy bag couldn’t cash yesterday, said bag broke, and I spilled my haul all over the street. As I cursed and kick-chased a geysering can of fancy seltzer, I glanced at my shoe and flowery skirt and realized: oh my god, I am the old lady in a house dress and sneakers who needs help with her groceries. (I am 43.)