This is 40: Or How I Spent My (Incredibly Long) Summer Vacation

On July 31, 2009—29 days before my 40th birthday—I walked away from my job. Period. No new job lined up, no clear idea of what to do next and only the flimsiest of plans for supporting myself. Just a need to step off the ledge—not to go “splat,” but as a leap of faith. I could see it in my mind's eye—the wind in my hair, arms wide open. Freedom.

I had been depressed for 5 years. 5.

And I had had it.

Et tu pater?

So I’m talking to my dad on the phone recently, and sans seqway he says, “did you see…what’s, he’s name, Dr. Goo, Gu…” (my dad is not good with languages).

“Dr. Gupta?” I say.

“Yeah, he was on Good Morning America talking about how two glasses of wine or more for women can cause problems.”

And I say, “Yes, I’m familiar with the research [hello, I’m a health writer!], and actually it’s interesting how different news outlets chose to present the research—alcohol BAD (irregular heartbeat risk with too much wine!) or alcohol OK (light drinking poses no heart risk to women).”

Besides, I don’t make a habit of drinking more than two glasses a wine a night. I won’t say I’ve never had more than two at a sitting, but it’s not common…”

“Still, it’s something to think about,” Dad says.

What I don't say is this: “Oh, Dad, not you too!!”

Sometimes I miss my office

Who am I kidding? I ALWAYS miss my office.

Late last April, I left a reporting job I’d been at for almost 3 years. It was my first—and most likely only—job with an office.

And it was great. Who wouldn’t happily abandon cubicle-land for their own office? I had a window. With a view of….the side of Union Station!! Woo hoo! And if I squished the left side of my face up to the window and craned my neck, I could look up First Street and see the Capitol dome. Or, closer by, the every-other-week convergence of emergency vehicles for yet another unattended package in the train station. And who could forget the summer of striking, chanting, workers and their giant inflatable rat?

Bnd it wasn’t just the view. I could hang some nice pictures, turn my music up pretty loud (actually I sometimes used to do this in cubicles too), put my feet up on my desk, and shop online without looking over my shoulder. In short, I had a DOOR. Pretty damn handy. Because even in at a company with a “nap room” and all sorts of wellness programs, lying down on the floor to meditate (and no that’s not a euphemism for sleep) in a cubicle is pretty awkward.

When does a woman become a cougar?

40? 39? And do you get extra "cougar free" years if you get carded?

Those are the questions I pose in my current Facebook headline. It's mostly a sardonic observation, but it probably won't surprise you to learn that I turned 39 on Saturday.

I've never really dated younger men. Not sure I'm going to. But evidently "cougar" now means any single woman above the age of 40 (age taken from internet "research").

OK. So let me get this straight.

My early 30s were all about the stereotypical baby clock. But evidently my late 30s were supposed to be about the cougar clock.

I'll synchronize my special "cougar" watch. Goodness, I'm awfully behind in my preparation. Good thing I have helpful information like the tip below, taken from an article on msnbc called "5 tips to being a sexy cougar."

Thanks MSNBC! I'm so relieved to hear that it's OK to be a cougar just as long as I maintain a preternaturally young appearance.

clipped from www.msnbc.msn.com Age is just a number. That’s the most important thing. These women are redefining what aging looks like. Because they eat well, exercise and do everything necessary to maintain a healthy balance in their life, 40, 50 or 60 never looked so good.