Last week, surrounded by the beauty and magnificence of Zion National Park, I turned 40. It felt like a very big deal and also like nothing at all.

Somewhere in my past, there’s a girl who can’t even fathom making it to 20, much less 40. For that girl, the present was so hard and so painful that it made thinking about the future an impossibility. Putting one foot in front of the other was the best I could do, so I did it, over and over and over again until I found myself moving forward, until I found myself with the space and safety to ponder the way ahead.

I used to think that being an adult meant you had it all figured out. As a kid, adulthood was this clearly defined thing that included driving privileges and deciding what was for dinner. Adults seemed to know everything, they had answers to all my questions, answers that are now somewhat suspect, but that were answers nonetheless. They dictated bedtimes and what was and wasn’t safe and how loudly I could play. They were in charge. They knew all.

I assumed, when I became an adult, that I would also figure it all out. I didn’t ponder the logistics of how that would happen, I just believed that it would. Maybe it was like a switch that would flip inside my brain, revealing the secrets of the universe. Maybe there was a manual. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I just believed.

Many of us go through a period of young adulthood where we truly believe that we know what the fuck we’re doing. We are emboldened by first paychecks and electric bills, bar tabs and relationships. During this phase of my own life, I got married. Repeatedly. I thought I had it all figured out until, eventually, reason won and I realized I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I briefly entertained the idea that maybe I wasn’t adult enough, that surely the day would come when the universe would unveil her secrets, when the manual would arrive on my doorstep. But it didn’t.

Somewhere in the middle of 30s, I decided that adulthood is a great big lie. It’s not real. There’s no manual. No switch. There’s no figuring it all out, and really, how boring would it be if we had all the answers?

I don’t know if it’s willful denial or something else entirely, but 40 feels different today than it did when I was growing up. Back then, 40 was old. The birthday cards at CVS told me it was over the hill, that once you hit 40, you started descending toward death. It was the beginning of the end.

With this milestone birthday, I’ve thought a lot about beginnings and ends. This birthday marked the end of my 30s, a decade that turned out to be pretty great despite a rough start. But, it’s also the beginning of a whole new phase, a whole new experience, a whole new season of my life.

Now, at 40, after everything, getting to turn the page and having the privilege to start a new chapter feels like a gift.