At 40

At 40, I don't have diseases--I have conditions. I have repetitive something syndrome in my wrists and my shoulders. Sometimes I feel repetitive twinges in my elbows, too. My knees aren't in great shape either; they swing east and west instead of north and south. "Tracking problems," said my doctor. "Go out and buy some orthopedic shoes."

Orthopedic shoes? The kind my grandmother wore, those grey lace-ups with all the padding? No wonder she liked to sneak up on people.

I went out and bought a pair of Rockport shoes instead, which aren't officially orthopedic, but the sales clerk at the mall told me they're the next best thing to orthos.

My new Rockports are brown. They're lace-ups, too--even worse. And, they're just as quiet as the ones my grandmother wore: I could murder someone in these things.

At 40, my vision is growing worse. I don't wear bifocals yet, but even my condensed lenses are so thick that I can't wear those cool little rimless frames.

I'm only 40. I thought age-related issues reared their ugly heads later--much later. And, I never thought I'd be facing existential issues at this age, but at 40, the two are converging.

At 40, it's slowly dawning on me that unless I live to be 81, I'm no longer middle-aged, but past that. I can no longer claim that I'm "finding myself," as I did in my 20s, or that I'm "settling in," as I did in my 30s. I'm 40, soon-to-be-41.

It's the supposed-to's that really get me. The Supposed To have a Very Important Job and Two Very Important Kids. I don't have a very important job or two very important kids; I don't even have kids. My husband doesn't have a Very Important Job either, nor does he have Two Very Important Kids. I worry about My Contribution to the World, about What Will I Leave Behind? Will anybody remember me? Have I done ANYTHING?

At 40, I thought I would be racking up my List of Accomplishments. But I've never even been to Europe. Well, I once went to England for two weeks; does that count, I wonder? I had a great time. I even picnicked with some cows; I feasted on pears and Brie while they chewed their cuds. Is that considered a life-changing experience, like swimming with dolphins?

At 40, I thought my dreams would have been realized. But, I'm not done: I have a dream. I want to go to San Francisco and ride the cable cars. I want to see the Golden Gate Bridge. I want to climb all those hills.

"I want to go to San Francisco," I announce in the doctor's office. My declaration, made as I lie naked underneath a paper sheet, doesn't come out right.

"You might want to go somewhere else," says the good doctor. "Your knees couldn't take it--all those hills." He wipes his glasses on the sheet and hands me a prescription for anti-inflammatories.

I leave feeling slightly miffed. I can't believe he said that about "all those hills." Since when is he such an expert on hills? I mean, that's the whole point of San Francisco, isn't it?

I toss my prescription in the garbage.

I'm going to San Francisco. I'm going to ride the little cable cars that climb halfway to the stars. I'm going to see the Golden Gate Bridge. And I'm going to leave my heart--and my knees--behind.

By Anne Rosenberg