The other day my husband asked me what my greatest fears were in turning 40. He has become a bit consumed with death and was wondering if I felt the same way. I am not obsessed with death because I have too many other things to be obsessed about.

The worst part about turning 40, by far, is aging. After all, I was the 36 year old lady who dated a 23 year old man and felt perfectly comfortable in her shoes doing so. I could keep up with him, and though I looked older, I didn’t look old. When I was 37, my future husband picked me out of a crowd because he thought I was hot. Now the only time I hear the descriptor is when it refers to the July weather in Boise. I went from being told I looked like China Phillips and Josie Bissett  to Martha Stewart – seemingly overnight. And though Martha is very attractive, I am not 62 years-old yet!

In all honesty, it’s quite depressing. I look back at pictures of myself in my mid-thirties, and I look noticeably younger. And I am not saying this to get someone to tell me, “Oh, no you haven’t aged.” Or “You do NOT have any wrinkles.” I know I do. I don’t want someone to tell me otherwise. I almost find it insulting that someone might think I would actually believe them. And it’s not just about wrinkles on my face. The wrinkles on my legs are just as bothersome. It’s disgusting when I go for a jog and look down at my legs – eek! Where did those wrinkles come from? And the belly? When I do a downward dog, the worst part is looking down and seeing the layers of skin in my tummy. Maybe I’m better suited for back bends (if I could actually do them).

And if it were only wrinkles, I’d be loving life. It’s really sagging skin that gets the best of me. I just read an article about how estrogen plays an important role in the thickening and elasticity of our skin. And as we age and produce less estrogen, a natural side affect is thinning and sagging skin. Well, I wrote the book on that one- they should use me as a test sample in their study. Sagging face skin. Sagging butt. There’s no way of getting around it. And no matter how many butt exercises I do or how many headstands I do in yoga, the skin is simply not reverting the other direction. Gravity has spoken!

The other thing that is simply annoying is dry and thinning skin. Not only is dry skin ugly, but it itches. No matter how much lotion I slather on every inch of my body, my skin is still dry. It’s impossible to cover up the flakes. And I can barely rub my skin against a sharp edge without getting cut. (It even seems like it takes longer to heal as an added bonus). When the cuts are on my hands, I get to look down and stare at them every day as a reminder of one other body part that resembles a senior citizen.

Another thing to add to the list is aches and pains. I guess I was pretty blessed in my twenties and thirties – I avoided most injuries despite my fairly high level of exercise and intensity. And even now, despite by constant back pain, I have stayed pretty healthy from a injury perspective. But there are silly things. Like the other night when I was watching a bad movie and decided to do my arm stretches (to help my shoulders that are already bowing forward) and push-ups. I woke up the next day with a strained muscle (or ligament or something). I mean, Good God, can a girl do some simple exercises at night without pulling something? And when I run after balls in a tennis match, I wake up the next day with a hip that feels like it has been torn in two. I’m determined to pre-empt injury with preventive exercise, but there’s only so much I can do (and only so much time in the day to do it).

And yes it bothers me that I tend to get tired early at night, fall asleep earlier and need more sleep. But that’s one I can handle. There are worse things than missing a few episodes of David Letterman. Plus, I tend to wake up earlier now, so I get to enjoy what I think is the best part of the day – daylight!

So though I now know I am not exempt from accidents and deadly diseases (literally, well into my thirties I was sure that nothing bad would ever happen to me), I am not consumed or obsessed with death. There’s more to life than worrying about what it might be like without it.

You can take the girl out the South, but not the South out of the girl. Or so the story goes. In this particular case, the girl has left the South with no immediate plans to move back. But the South has influenced me in ways that can’t be forgotten. My roots have shaped where I’ve gone, how I think, what I care about, and what I enjoy doing.

There was a time in my life when I never wanted to leave the South. Then when I did, I fell in love with the cultures I explored, the cities in which I lived, the people I met, the foods I ate, and the varying personalities I came to know.

What took me to the three corners of the US? An innate curiosity? A sense of adventure? An interest in exploration?  A desire to be different?  Probably all of the above.

Now I have reached a point in my life where I want to stay put. In part from a general disinterest in moving again. In part because I really like where I live. In part because I have a family now and it’s too stressful to start new schools, find new jobs, and make new friends. I can still explore and be adventurous without packing the ‘ole bags and setting sail for a new destination.

Not to mention, this sense of exploration can also include finding myself and learning more about who I am and where my ultimate destination lies – both literally and metaphorically. But for a start, I do like some of the synonyms of Bohemian: nonconformist, artsy, maverick, hippie. To call me a Bohemian Belle is a pretty accurate statement. And so the title goes.