So here we are. The big four-oh. My 40th birthday is tomorrow, and I honestly don’t know how to feel about it.
Part of me wants to wax lyrical about life and milestones and everything I’ve learned – to say something meaningful and reflective, the kind of thing people nod along with and say, “Yes, that really is what it’s all about.” The other part of me just wants to sit quietly with a strong cup of coffee, eat far too much cake, and mutter “blimey” every so often while staring into the void like a man who’s seen too much.
Because here’s the truth: I never thought I’d see 30, let alone 40.
And no, that’s not some throwaway line like, “Oh, I partied so hard in my twenties that it’s a miracle I survived.” There were genuinely times in my life when the idea of a future – any future – felt impossible. I couldn’t picture getting older. Couldn’t imagine what “normal” adult life might look like. I genuinely believed I wouldn’t be around for long. That’s a hard thing to admit now, but it’s part of the story, and ignoring it would be like skipping the first few chapters of a book and pretending the ending still makes sense.
But somehow, I’m still here. Nearly 40. Still standing, still stubborn, still pushing forward even when the path makes no sense.
And I’ve done things in the past ten years that the younger version of me wouldn’t have believed.
I’ve got a house. A proper house – one with creaky floorboards and weird wiring and a garden that’s never quite under control. I’ve got a wife who makes life better in all the quiet ways that really count. And I’ve got a German shepherd who seems to run entirely on chaos and adrenaline, like someone installed the brain of a Formula One driver into the body of a furry wrecking ball. She’s brilliant and completely unhinged in equal measure – and somehow, she fits perfectly into the weird, messy little life we’ve built.
Oh, and I went to university in my thirties. That still feels surreal to say. After years of thinking it wasn’t for me – that I’d missed the boat or wouldn’t cope – I actually did it. I enrolled, stuck with it, powered through essays, workshops, seminars and those horrible moments of self-doubt that whisper “you don’t belong here.” And not only did I finish – I came out with a First Class Honours degree. If you’d told me that ten years ago, I’d have laughed in your face. I still don’t think it’s fully sunk in.
And through it all, I’ve kept writing.
Six books. I’ve written six books over the last decade (technically 7 years). Me – someone who once convinced himself that finishing a single one would be impossible. But I stuck with it. Sometimes slowly, sometimes chaotically, but always with a weird sort of determination I didn’t know I had. Those books are proof – to myself, more than anyone – that I can start something and see it through. That I am a writer, regardless of how much I overthink it or compare myself to others.
I’ve found stories inside me I didn’t know were there. Some dark, some strange, some just… honest. And every single one is a reminder that I’ve lived a life full of experiences – even the rough, ugly, complicated ones – and that I’ve turned some of those moments into something that speaks. Something that matters.
So yeah. I’m turning 40 tomorrow. And no, I haven’t got it all figured out. I still question myself more often than I’d like. I still forget to slow down. I still have days where I feel like I’m pretending to be a grown-up. But I’ve lived. I’ve built a life that actually feels like mine.
And for someone who once thought they wouldn’t have a life at all – that’s no small thing.
If you’re reading this and feeling stuck, like the future’s too foggy or too far away, please know that things can change. You can grow into yourself. You can surprise yourself. Life doesn’t follow a neat script – but the unexpected chapters are often the most meaningful.
Tomorrow I turn 40. I’ve got coffee in my mug, dog hair on my clothes, a messy desk full of half-finished stories, a First Class degree on the wall, and a life I’m proud of.
I’m so glad I stuck around long enough to see it.
Gareth Ellis - Author 