10 things I thought I’d have figured out by 40

When I was younger, I assumed by the time I hit my 40s, I’d have it all figured out. Picture a life where everything runs like clockwork – no missing keys, no spiralling into an existential crisis at 2 a.m., and certainly no Googling “how to fold a fitted sheet” every single laundry day.

Turns out, 40 isn’t a magical age where everything clicks into place. There’s still so much I’m winging, but hey, that’s half the fun, right? Here’s my not-so-expert take on the things I thought I’d have figured out by 40 – but still haven’t.

1. Folding fitted sheets: the ultimate mystery

At 45, I still can’t fold a fitted sheet, and honestly, it’s one of the many things I thought I’d have figured out by now.

Forget quantum physics. This is the real unsolved mystery of our time. After decades of struggling with fitted sheets, I still end up with a lumpy mess or a “roll it up and shove it in the linen closet” situation. 

Oh, I’ve seen the TikToks and the Instagram tutorials. But really? Marie Kondo sits on the floor to fold stuff … and that just won’t fly with these stiff, inflexible middle-aged hips of mine.

Folding a fitted sheet is the Schrödinger’s cat of housework – it is both folded and not folded at the same time.

Life’s too short for that shit. Seriously.

2. What I really want to be when I grow up

This is a big thing I thought I’d have figured out by 40. By my 40s, I should be happily career-set, knowing exactly what I want from life. But instead, I find myself pondering if it’s too late to pivot to a llama farm.

Some days, I fantasise about being a novelist, working from a cottage in the woods with nothing but my thoughts and a steady supply of coffee. Actually, most days I fantasise about that.

The possibilities are endless, but so are the self-doubts. Could I start over? Do I even have the energy to learn something new? Will the world take a midlife llama farmer seriously?

Some days, I think I’m just a child in a middle-aged woman’s body who still hasn’t nailed this whole “adult” thing. 

But maybe that’s the beauty of it – at this stage, it’s about recognising that “growing up” doesn’t have to mean locking yourself into one identity forever. Maybe, you could start a blog at 45 … just sayin’.

3. How to avoid buying things I don’t need

By now, I really thought I’d have outgrown the phase where I buy utterly useless things. But here I am, a full-grown adult, staring at a cupboard filled with unused notebooks, novelty mugs, and, bizarrely, a pair of fairy wings.

It starts innocently enough – a little window shopping, maybe a quick scroll through Instagram or Pinterest, and then the algorithm hits me with “essential” items I didn’t even know existed. A USB-powered smoothie maker? Clearly, my life is incomplete without it. A decorative pillow shaped like a croissant? How could I not!.

The worst offenders are the “aspirational” purchases. Those ones that scream, This is who you could be if you just bought this! Yoga blocks for my new mindfulness routine (still in the box), a pasta maker because I’m definitely learning to make fresh ravioli (I’m not), or yet another water bottle promising to revolutionise my hydration habits (it didn’t).

Maybe one day, I’ll get this figured out. Until then, my croissant pillow and I will be curled up on the couch, scrolling for more “necessities.”

4. The perfect skincare routine

There are so many products, steps, and serums that I feel like I’m performing alchemy every night. You would think, after so many years with this skin, I’d have this down pat.

My bathroom cabinet looks like a skincare graveyard, filled with products that were supposed to “change my life” but only changed the balance of my bank account. 

The truth is, skincare at this stage feels like a cruel joke. We’re told to embrace the natural ageing process while simultaneously being bombarded with messages about reversing it. 

It’s a constant cycle of hope, experimentation, and inevitable disappointment.

Maybe the real glow-up isn’t a dewy complexion but the acceptance that I’ll never figure it out. Until then, I’ll keep trying, because apparently, nothing screams “self-care” like smearing snail mucus on your face and hoping for the best.

The one thing I have figured out: I *really* like botox.

5. What to say in social situations

Ugh. Despite having decades of practice, small talk still feels like an Olympic sport.

Them: “How are you?”

Me: “Good! Fine! Tired. Alive? Wait, how are YOU?!”

Okay, I can usually get through the greetings just fine, but I have no idea where to go next with a conversation. What if I ask the wrong question and it’s awkward? 

What if I ask how hubby is and she tells me he ran off with his 22-year-old personal trainer?

Gah! Awks. Back away slowly. 

Weather is always a safe bet. Boring. But safe. What else is there?

6. How to be organised for birthdays

I think this one has something to do with increased responsibilities as life changes. That’s my excuse anyway.

When I was young(er), I always had an organised calendar, and I always knew when to send the cake emojis. But now, even my own birthday sneaks up on me.

It’s not like I don’t know they’re happening … but every year, the same last-minute panic sets in.

OMG, it’s my sister’s birthday tomorrow. Shit!  

And I’m left scrambling. Why can’t I just think ahead. Why aren’t I organised?

I’m 45, and I still haven’t figured out how to remember these things without a digital assistant telling me at the last minute. Maybe this is the year I get my shit together on this?

I’ll not hold my breath.

7. How to meditate without getting bored

Meditation is meant to help you find inner peace, clarity, and calm – a little slice of serenity in a chaotic world. But for me? It often feels like an Olympic event in not-doing.

First, there’s the struggle to sit still. My brain decides this is the perfect time to think about whether I paid the gas bill, where a random schoolmate ended up, and if pigeons ever sleep. Not to mention the aching in my hips, back and shoulders as I try to maintain some semblance of a Lotus position.

Then comes the realisation that not thinking is apparently a skill I lack. I mean, I can’t clear my email inbox; what chance does my mind have?

Yet, I persist. Because sometimes, amidst the mental to-do lists and existential musings, there’s a brief, fleeting moment of peace. That, or I just give up and call a nap a win.

8. How to stop overthinking

I may be 45, but deep inside I am still just a teenager … full of angst. I say something vaguely awkward at a party. Later that night, as I’m brushing my teeth, it hits me: Was I weird? Did they think I was weird? Am I now the weird one in the group?

Three hours later, I’m staring at the ceiling, replaying every syllable of that conversation like it’s a true crime podcast.

This is where journaling helps me untangle my thoughts – writing it down often makes the ‘true crime podcast’ in my head a little less dramatic. At least that’s one thing I’ve learnt!

9. How to politely end a conversation

It seems like a simple skill. But some days I’m still flailing like a socially awkward teenager at the mere thought of gracefully exiting a conversation.

Here’s the thing: some people are conversational quicksand. They pull you in, and before you know it, you’re 30 minutes deep into the activities of their children, their health problems, or the terrible state of the public education system.

But how do you escape without looking rude or, worse, having them follow you to keep talking?

My fallback is always: “Well, I’ll let you get back to it!” It’s a decent standby. 

I have also tried a breezy: “I’ve just remembered I need to [insert vague, non-committal excuse here]” as I edge away. 

I’ve never had the courage to go the nuclear option:

“Well, I’ve got to go. My dog is texting me again. You know how they are.”

One day I hope to be brave enough. If only to see the look on their face.

10. How to assemble flat-pack furniture without a meltdown

An essential life skill and something I thought I’d have figured out by 40. I was wrong.

Step one: open the box and spread out the pieces with an air of confidence. 

Step two: immediately panic when you realise nothing looks like it does in the instructions. Which, by the way, seem to have been translated from the original Swedish by someone who hates humanity.

The screws never match the holes. The diagrams require an engineering degree to understand. And that tiny Allen key? It might be the universal tool for all flat-packs, but it is ergonomically designed to ruin your day.

Somewhere around hour three, you’re down to the last panel, and one of two things happens:

1. You realise you’ve put it together backwards and have to disassemble half the thing to fix it.
2. You finish, but there’s a random piece leftover, staring at you like the ghost of furniture past.

Wrap-up:

So, here’s to embracing the chaos and laughing at the things we thought we’d have figured out by 40. Life isn’t about having it all together; it’s about finding joy in the mess and realising that none of us really have the manual.

We’re all just winging it – folding sheets (badly), navigating careers (sometimes sideways), and building flat-pack furniture with more swearing than skill. And that’s okay.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a fitted sheet to ball up, a croissant pillow to fluff, and some journaling to do about why I’ll never be an adult.

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