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Birthday Reflections: Turning 39 and the Neuroscience of “Getting Older and Wiser”

Today’s the day—39 years of life, love, loss, and liver damage (thanks, alcohol, for the memories I can’t remember). If my life were a novel, this chapter would be called “Almost 40: A Comedy of Errors and Triumphs.” Birthdays are funny little things, aren’t they? A celebration of survival, of being one year closer to yelling at kids to get off your lawn while googling “are compression socks stylish?”

Turning 39 feels like standing on the precipice of middle age and shouting, “Bring it on!” (but maybe not too hard; I have lower back issues). It’s a mix of gratitude and trepidation, looking back on the trials that shaped me and forward to a future that, let’s be honest, is still being written—much like my novels. But before we get to the poignant stuff, let’s nerd out about brains because, apparently, that’s what I do now.

According to Medical News Today, our brains actually get better as we age—well, some parts of them, anyway. The article explains that “while certain cognitive functions such as processing speed and memory may decline, others, such as vocabulary, emotional regulation, and wisdom, tend to improve with age.” Great news, right? Sure, I can’t remember where I left my keys half the time, but I can drop some seriously wise nuggets about life.

The article also dives into the science behind why this happens: “The prefrontal cortex—the area of the brain responsible for complex decision-making and emotional regulation—matures as we age, allowing for improved impulse control and better judgment.” Impulse control, you say? I’ll take it. If only my prefrontal cortex had been a little quicker on the uptake, I might have avoided some questionable decisions in my 20s (and early 30s, let’s be honest).

But that’s the thing about life: it’s messy. And my messiest moments? They’re not just scars; they’re stories. Battling alcoholism wasn’t a tidy, linear process. It was a knock-down, drag-out fight, complete with relapses, regrets, and revelations. Alcohol whispered promises of peace but delivered only chaos. It wasn’t until I found my purpose—writing, creating, pouring my soul into stories—that I began to crawl out of that darkness.

This isn’t to say I’m perfect now. Far from it. But sobriety gave me something that booze never could: clarity. Writing novels like Demons Within, Cocaine Cola, The Dish Pit, Serpents in the Sand, Tina, and Saratoga Summer wasn’t just therapy—it was salvation. Each book is a testament to resilience, to the idea that even when life feels like it’s falling apart, you can build something beautiful from the rubble.

Now, here I am at 39, a little older, maybe a little wiser, and definitely a little grayer (I blame the stress of The Dish Pit for that). And you know what? I’m proud. Proud of the battles I’ve fought, the stories I’ve told, and the person I’ve become. Life hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it.

So, here’s to 39 years of chaos, creativity, and courage. To the people who stood by me when I didn’t deserve it, to the books that kept me sane, and to the readers who remind me why I do what I do. And here’s to the next chapter—whatever it may hold.

If you’re interested in the science behind aging brains and their surprising perks, check out the article here: “What Happens to Our Brain as We Age?”.

And, of course, if you’re looking for something to read while your prefrontal cortex matures, pick up one of my novels—links are somewhere on this blog or on Instagram @millprites. Life is a story, and this is just the beginning of mine. Cheers to that.


 

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