I’m forty years old.

Much of me feels just like I did when I was 25. Other parts feel better.

I sometimes think about ageing. I see my mother age and realize that my own old age is no longer distant enough to be invisible and unreal. I’ve noticed wrinkles appearing around my eyes, and my hair is gray. But I’m comfortable in my body. It’s healthy and strong, still. I am probably stronger than I’ve been for years.

I am frustrated with my job, which is now all stress and no joy. But that reached such a peak in June that clarity struck like lightning and dissolved all doubts. It’s time for me to leave that job and move on.

I am somewhat tired of being a mom. Perhaps I’ve let mothering dominate my life too much for too long. Or maybe not – maybe now is just the right time to pull back a bit. There is room for me to be more selfish again, to think about what’s good for me and what makes me happy.