Jennifer Lea Reynolds

Of all the items that make up my workspace, it’s a picture of me holding a bunch of dandelions that never fails to put a smile in my heart. In this May 1979 picture, I carry an expression that’s nothing short of being as pleased as punch.

Revenge. Body.They’re two dynamically opposite words, one carrying anger and hatred, while the other exudes everything that’s wonderful about us, from births and bruises to our fat rolls and collar bones.

“You’re an only child?”

I'm proud to be where I'm at in life, even if it means spending more time buying bunion-cushioning shoe inserts and various vitamin supplements than it does staying out late with friends getting sushi and drinks. What is somewhat bizarre to me, however, is how the signs of getting older have crept up on me. Big time.

I’m not sure I would have persisted with such ambition prior to my father’s death. I’ve found that a loved one’s passing does more than nudge you forward; it can catapult you towards exciting opportunities.

Towards the end of last year, I sat in a plastic surgeon’s office discussing the excess skin that falls at my lower belly.

This summer, I’ll be turning 42. Rather than wallowing in misery over a newly-formed wrinkle or questioning life decisions, I’m finding that my 40s have been nothing more than a confidence-filled journey.