This past Friday, I hit the Fabulous and Fierce milestone of FORTY. And leading up to it, I asked myself two questions:
“What have my first 40 years taught me?”
and
“What do I want to learn from my next 40+?”
As I journaled, long paragraphs of memory slowly began to distill. Truths got simpler. Words got sharper. What remained were the essentials—lessons that have been lived, not just learned. Some earned the hard way. Others arrived more gently. All of them, now, feel like touchstones I want to carry into whatever’s next.
With a wink to all the “40 Under 40” lists out there, I created my own version.
Not a résumé. Not an achievement list. Just a living, breathing collection of poetic invitations I’ve picked up along the way—some cracked open through heartbreak, some whispered in moments of stillness, some offered by people who loved me enough to be honest.
I don’t claim these lessons as universal, but they’ve been true enough for me, often enough, to feel worth naming. They’re not fixed in stone—they’re alive, shifting, evolving as I do. But right now, as I stand on the threshold of 40, they feel like solid ground. A kind of inner scaffolding for what comes next.
So, whether you're 20, 40, 60, 80 or somewhere entirely off that timeline, maybe one of these lessons meets you where you are. Maybe they remind you of your own hard-won wisdom. Maybe they invite you to pause and ask your own questions or make your own list!
Here’s what I’m calling: ‘20 at 40’
20 at 40
Twenty Invitations for the Threshold of Forty
(aka: the lessons I’ll be clinging to, laughing with, and most certainly, learning from all over again)
🌀 I. Self-Awareness & Inner Grounding
These are the lessons that found me in stillness—in the quiet undoing of who I thought I was, and the slow remembering of who I’ve always been.
Biggest life shift?
Doing —> GrowingMost of us know exactly what we don’t want.
Few of us know exactly what we do want.
And that makes all the difference.Hope isn’t just a feeling—
It’s a habit.You cannot metabolize an emotion if you refuse to confront it.
I thought I was going to lose myself
But I found an undiscovered part instead.
🛡️ II. Boundaries, Power & Protection
Offered here are truths I’ve learned at the edges—where saying no was an act of love, and walking away became its own kind of prayer.
Boundaries made from wound are flaccid.
Boundaries made from love are solid.They can only keep you small
if you participate in their theater.If they play mind games,
Don’t be the ref or the opponent.
Stop the game. Don’t engage.People pay you what you believe you’re worth.
Manage your values, not their emotions.
🔥 III. Identity, Expression & Voice
Turning 40, I am beginning to unmask— self-expression is becoming less about proving and more about revealing. I am continually catching myself: interrupt performance and practice returning.
My adornment is no longer my atonement.
How I present is not an apology.Careful how you talk about yourself—
Your cells are listening.Never am I more lit
Than when I fan my own flame.If I’m not replying,
it’s because I’m doing important dog-parent things.
Like staring contests.
;)
💡 IV. Relationships, Ego & Communication
These came through conflict and repair, silence and speaking up—each one a tender teacher in what it means to meet others without losing myself.
I’d rather be right than consistent.
Pride doesn’t solve problems—clarity does.Temporary discomfort
is the price of a permanent blessing.Love between those who agree is comfort.
Love between those who disagree is peace.
🌍 V. Spiritual & Collective Wisdom
And here, the path widens. These are the lessons that remind me I’m not alone—that healing is a shared act, and love, when practiced fiercely, can be world-making.
“You have to put legs on prayer.”
– My dear Seminary friend, Kopano Maroga“We have to wage love
as much as others would wage war.”
– Rev Melissa Stewart“Hard times require furious dancing.”
– Alice Walker
Of course, none of these lessons are finished. They’re not boxes checked or wisdom mastered. They’re more like trails I’ve walked enough to recognize the terrain—but I still trip, still pause, still ask for directions. Some days I live them with ease. Other days, I forget them completely. That’s the nature of growth—it spirals back, again and again, asking the same questions with a new voice.
If anything, this list is a compass. Not a map, not a rulebook—but a gentle set of directions pointing me back to myself when I wander. And I will wander. We all do. That’s part of the deal.
As I step into this next decade, I’m less interested in performing wisdom and more committed to practicing it—in community, in conflict, in laughter, in uncertainty. I want to stay teachable. I want to stay awake. I want to keep letting love be the most radical thing I risk.
If anything here resonated with you, feel free to bring it inward and pass it on. Maybe even write your own list—your own lived truths. Because every time we name what we’ve learned or are learning, we make space for someone else to remember what they already know.
And thank you, Friend, for being part of my threshold crossing from my 30s into my 40s. I’m deeply grateful for your listening ear and attentive eye here on Substack.
I will be having a kind of “Communal Birth Day Party” in the form of the next SUN SERVICE. So mark your calendars for May 4.
Sun Service has been described as "church-ish," in that its a gathering designed to help us all connect more deeply—to ourselves, to each other, and to spirit—through music, practice, and teachings. Unlike traditional religious services, Sun Service is not rooted in a single faith, text, or doctrine but instead draws inspiration from interfaith and inter-spiritual traditions, offering what I hope will feel like a modern, inclusive approach to Sunday mornings.
May 4, I’ll yet again have the great honor of having Venika Morrissette bringing music and song through our bones in only the way she can. We so hope you can join us:
Just after Sun Service on May 4, my main man Kevin Courtney and I will be heading to the sacred lands of Santa Fe to lead a 5-day retreat. We’ve named it MILAGRO for a reason. While we often hear the term translated to “miracle,” we prefer the alternative definition: “awaken to the extraordinary.”
We’ll begin our mornings in practice—meditation, yoga, and dharma—to drop beneath the noise and root into something deeper. Then we’ll take that grounded energy out into the day: hiking the Arroyo Ridge, spending time with horses to soak in their quiet medicine, and closing the night under open skies, bathing in live music and starlight on a platform far from city lights, where the stars reveal themselves fully.
We’d love to have you with us:
And if not there, perhaps in Greece (June) or Spain (October) or a Sun Service in due time. No matter what or where, sending you love.
Ever grateful for your presence here.
With love,
Nat
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