The fortieth one.

Happy Birthday, me.

Here’s the audio version of this post if you need, or would like, me to read it to you.

I turn forty this week. A new freaking decade and mostly I feel thrilled about it. Firstly, what a privilege it is to get older. Secondly, I feel deeply curious and excited to see what’s gonna unravel in this next decade, especially as I’ve been reflecting on the last ten years; on the woman they crafted. Thirdly, I feel the tiniest bit bittersweet for all the versions of my life that I thought I might’ve been living now and am not. All of it is true. Co-existing in my heart and body and brain.  

In the last decade I have…

Moved six times
Gotten engaged
Gotten married
Separated my marriage.
Fallen in love.
Tried online dating.
Written three novels.
Published three novels.
Written and published many plays.
Written three screenplays.
Had a YouTube channel.
Had a podcast.
Had a blog.
Had a mainstage production of one of my plays performed.
Gotten a dog…and kept her alive.
Navigated infertility.
Experienced pregnancy loss.
Pierced my nipple.
Gone overseas.
Gone to therapy.
Begun to recognise my own neurodivergence.

Taken my nipple ring out.
I've done some version of freelancing as a paid artist for the whole decade.
Worked on brilliant projects with glorious people that I will feel deeply grateful for my whole life.

And, I'm still driving the same car.

I've felt unbelievable joy that vibrated my whole body so intensely that it appeared like I was floating. I've felt body crumpling grief. Pillow punching rage. Deep gratitude. I've felt awed and moved and inextricably intoxicated by delight. I've felt terrified and scared and rejected. And not once have I ever felt like I've had it all figured out.

In the last few months I've been musing the cultural script that derides feminine aging. The insistence that we must be horrified by our own existence, or at least pretend publicly that we are. And whilst I understand the cultural insistence that women perpetually be young, quiet and beautiful I refuse to opt in because, quite frankly, I love getting older. I feel so deeply grateful for the human I am right now and how different she is to the human I was a decade ago. How much she's navigated and learnt and how few fucks she has to give now. I future vision to me another decade from now and I marvel at the possibility of who that woman might be.

If this is forty-year-old Claire, just imagine the bad ass full witch mode fantasy of fifty-year-old Claire.

The most persistent lesson I've learnt and re-learnt is the fundamental truth of my own enoughness. That our very aliveness equates to our how truly enough we are. And how this lesson has manifested most recently is in the desire to slow the fuck down. I've written a forty for forty list of things I want to try and experience this year and none of them have anything to do with work. I have zero expectations about deliverables. Just a whole year to honour a whole new decade by trying things I've always wanted to try, by slowing down more, going on adventures, and eating food with people I love.

I want to try weightlifting, and Tai Chi and an ice bath. I want to see penguins, and quokkas and turtle’s hatch. I want to go overseas. Try a Five Rhythms dance class and a Japanese Head Spa. I want to make focaccia and a pie and poetry and go to an aquarium.

If I was going to distil the intentions behind the list I'd say what's at its core is more quality time with myself and the people I care about, more stillness, more embodiment, and more surprise and delight.

I don’t want a party. I want to celebrate for the whole year and share moments that are deeper than quick catch up’s at an event I’d just feel overwhelmed and anxious about. On the weekend, though, I thought I was going out on a birthday date with my love only to arrive at a restaurant to a table of some of my most favourite people in the entire world all gathered. Including my best best who does not live in my state. She had organised the whole thing, curated it all with the assistance of my love and my pals, and flew up just for me. And I am so deeply moved and still a little stunned that this glorious meal in the most ridiculous humid Meanjin weather happened. She said she’s decided to no longer live a life where she doesn’t do the things she feels called to do. I marvel at this, at her. Her walking her talk, letting her love be a verb. This circular table of people I care so deeply about, who care so deeply about me, sharing food and stories was love in action, and every part of it was delicious. Including the bit where we were all home and in our own beds by 10:30pm.

Here’s the only footage of the evening and it included me awkwardly squirming and begging there be no singing, because we should ban all singing of the birthday song because it is the most awkward thing ever…WHAT ARE YOU MEANT TO DO WITH YOUR HANDS?!?!

These lessons is what the privilege of getting older gifts us. Learning our values and living our values. Recognising that life is going to be consistently brutiful, that brutality and beauty co-exist. And we are reminded of this because of the people we know who should be celebrating more birthdays are not. Nothing is guaranteed. Things can change so quickly.     

Something I’m really deeply pondering of late is the fallacy of ‘one day.’ The notion that we will arrive at some utopia place or state when our ducks are in a row and we’ve climbed to the top of the mountain. I just don’t believe it anymore. The utopia place I’ve thought forever was external is actually internal. It’s my own peace. It’s saying what I think and feel. It’s taking the time to know what I think and feel. It’s boundaries. It’s trusting my gut. It’s love in action. My own breath. The metronome reminder in my very chest that shows me every second that I am here. I am alive. And that is enough.

You’re enough, love. Exactly as you are. Right now. Take a breath. Feel your heartbeat. Relax your shoulders. YOU’RE ALIVE. Isn’t that the fucking coolest thing ever?

Here’s a big fat yes to aging. Here’s to the fortieth honouring of that gift.

And high-five Mum and Dad for fancying each other enough forty’ish years ago to make it happen. I am forever grateful for the two of you.  

Fuck the rules.

Love Claire.

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Things You Should Know…

If you’re in Meanjin, I have an event at Springfield Library on Valentines Day, also known as Library Lovers Day, called Guilty Pleasures. You know how I feel about the word ‘guilty’ being placed in front of the word pleasure, so there’ll be big romance chats. I’ll be speaking with Kylie Scott and Melanie Saward and I’m really looking forward to it. It’s free, but you have to book. Booking link here.

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Pearler is written and created on the unceded lands of the Yuggera and Turrbal people here in Meanjin, and I pay my deep respect to First Nation Elders past and present. This always was, and always will be Aboriginal land.

I also want to acknowledge the atrocity and genocide we’re seeing play out in Palestine right now. I don’t believe I can wholeheartedly support sovereignty of this land I live on without honouring the impacts of colonisation of Indigenous people everywhere else. We need ongoing and final ceasefire.