Turning 40 Is More Than Just a Milestone for Some Gay Men

This is 40. And I don’t feel a day over 18. It’s funny, of course this column is supposed to be about my life in Missouri, and as fate would have it, that’s exactly where I spent this milestone. If any of you reading right now could have predicted that I would spend my 40th birthday in the middle of an apple orchard in Missouri, having a farm-to-table dinner with a gentleman from Mexico and another from France, I actually would have said, “Yeah, that works for me!” But I would have never been able to imagine how life would land me there.

I know there is a whole quote about making plans…and how we shouldn’t, essentially. But I do like to believe that some things in our lives we have to plan or we feel the need to plan. There was no doubt in my mind, that when I turned 40, it would be the equivalent of the birthday party a celebrity talk show host would have.

As I have mentioned, I’m single. (I’ll just keep reminding you.) And I’ll only speak for myself, but because I’ve never had a wedding, I really truly believed that my 40th birthday was going to be the equivalent of one. I had it all planned out. Thirty-nine of my closest friends would all be flown out by private jet to Big Bear. We would all have luxury cabins and every morning someone would make a breakfast. Lunch would be served on the lawn, and every evening a different chef would arrive to make us dinner. We would then proceed to have cocktails and caviar as we danced the night away.

Where did this image come from? And how in the world did I think I could afford this?! Even if I could, who were these 39 friends? And how were they all magically available for this party? Also, what would I have done by the age of 40 that I had to celebrate in such a grandiose way? And by the way, if any of you have done this—good for you!

But then it occurred to me, why was I trying to replace a wedding with my birthday?

I’ve been to many weddings, but I’ve actually never been to a gay wedding. And I’ve told myself over and over that I’m not jealous. I’m happy for them, but I don’t want to be them. The more I thought about it, though, some part of me was jealous of the celebration. When was someone going to celebrate me? After all, I’m fun. I’m cool. I’m gay! Don’t I get a party for that? Especially when I’m 40?

I went on the inevitable Las Vegas trip with my “straight,” married high school friends a few weeks ago to celebrate one of their 40th birthdays. And it occurred to me that my Big Bear dream was just that, a dream. Here we all were in a hotel room laughing and making fun of each other and having the absolute best time. Like we always have. There was the superficiality of what I thought I wanted to prove or what I thought I deserved before I was 40, and then there was the simple fact that I was 40.

Honestly. I’m happy to be alive. I’m happy to be healthy. I’m happy to be Black. I’m happy that my family is good. I’m happy that my friends are good. I’m happy that I’m gay! I’m happy that I live in Missouri. And I’m beyond happy for all the experiences that I had leading up to this moment, or I wouldn’t be happy. And I wouldn’t be thankful. And I wouldn’t be grateful.

I tell you, I honestly had the best time with my friend from Mexico and my friend from France in that apple orchard in Missouri on my birthday. I wouldn’t trade it for all the private jets and luxury cabins in the world. This is 40.