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8 Thoughts On Turning 40
The body creaks and the hangovers last longer, but you stop giving a damn about most things.
You have learned not to give a fuck, you’ve been lied to enough, broken enough teeth and had enough cheap smiles to know what is actually worth your time.
40 is where life really begins, it’s more than just survival, you wear that collection of scars like a badge of honour, as proof that you stayed in the ring.
You still want women, whiskey, and some kind of meaning if any,
but you’re less desperate now, more dangerous, because you finally know yourself.
You realize it’s mostly you against the world so you may as well fuck shit up, go all in, and break a few walls chasing what you want.
You learn that half the pain you carry comes from worrying about things that haven’t even happened. You stop giving a fuck about pleasing everyone, your circle gets smaller, and that’s how you know you’re finally authentic.
Your 20s were for exploring, your 30s for stumbling into the grind. But at 40? You’re seasoned enough to face disasters of epic proportions and still stand tall.
Sex stops being casual. Your time stops being cheap. And you stop being available to anyone who doesn’t bring real meaning into your life.
40 doesn’t make you wise, it just makes you harder to kill.
You carry your scars like medals, stop begging for company, and finally live without the bullshit.
That’s the real win.
