I just spent $50 on probiotics and I need to talk about it.

Photo by the author.

To be clear, I’m happy to get older. I mean shit, consider the alternative. As much as our world cherishes youth, ironically the dumbest era of our lives, I prioritize age. I’ve only ever seen good come of it. And as I’m currently 40 days away from my 40th birthday, I find myself taking stock of things like my health, self-care, routines, etc., just to make sure everything still works and I’m not autopiloting my adulthood. As a result, I’ve come to a conclusion that’s twisting my stomach like a wet tea towel: My 20s and 30s were cheap, and I didn’t care.

The ignorance of youth is not only bliss, it is affordable. The way I used to need nothing more than a Target run to take care of myself is starting to break my heart. Things just aren’t enough anymore, not to deal with what Father Time has planned. Effortless is no longer feasible, and as I’m discovering, effort affects your finances. Don’t believe it? Turn 38 and try to fall asleep unassisted—then get back to me.

I can’t just…have hair anymore, I have to dye it every five weeks or it will be gray, a color other people are cool with but I am just not. The affordable skincare I’ve been using for years is suddenly comically ineffective in the literal face of Mother Nature, and the probiotics I’ve been taking for the last five years or so have lost all efficacy. I can flush $15.99 per month down the toilet without a wellness brand’s help, thank you so much. Those Ikea bookshelves you used to get away with? Your home looks like a dorm room Susan, step it up! And have you seen the price of furniture these days?! You’ll need a supplement for the stress of that alone. Want to wear a dress? Me too! But “tossing on” a sundress is the shit of yesteryear I can assure you. Now I have to factor in what’s happening underneath the dress to the tune of high waisted underpants (some of you will understand), a balm to make sure my thighs don’t rip each other open, and enough anti-sweat body dust to fingerprint a crime scene. Can I live?

Personal maintenance used to be about as taxing as splashing some water and Clean & Clear soap across my cheeks. The cute kind with the little beads in it. Vitamins? Wellness products? LOL there was nothing stronger than Gatorade in my home for years. I was one mascara coat and a deodorant swipe away from out-the-door at literally all times. I didn’t even let foundation touch my epidermis until I was about 35. Now if I want to have a “pool day” with my girlfriends it requires two hours in the bathroom 45 minutes of which are spent in the shower resurfacing my entire sentient vessel.

In addition to the fresh, expensive hells associated with existing, there’s an added fuck you afoot: For every new thing added, I would expect to lose an old thing, providing some sort of consolation prize to the balance sheet. But no, my hormonal acne breakouts still occur and I’m still shaving my legs as regularly as I needed to at 14. I want to burn down a building.

After noticing that the supplements I was using for gut health were about as effective as taking a daily Jolly Rancher, I researched a higher quality product more likely to retain efficacy on my quadruple-decade carcass. The good news is that there is one, and the internet largely agrees that it’s the best. The price however is a middle finger to my birth certificate. I’m now paying, apparently, $50 per month so that my digestive system operates as it should on its own. BRB going to go cry into my anti-inflammatory salad recipe real quick.

Is aging bad? No. I’m only getting smarter and far more comfortable being my authentic self. I can’t be upset about that. But as I age I notice that if I want shit to work, or to simply continue working as it always has, I have to spend more money on it. I have to consider things that never crossed my consciousness before, and I find myself caring deeply about things I never knew possible. All of them are happening to me, and all of them require monthly subscriptions. Thank god the price of wine is holding steady.

If you, like me, are turning 40 this year, congratulations. I like to think the dumbass portion of the program has ended, and we can progress into the wisdom act of this performance. Otherwise the ROI on this whole “life” thing is absolute shit. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to go make sure these auto-renews won’t overdraft my bank account, byeeeeee!

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If you liked this essay, you’ll probably also enjoy my book A Single Revolution: Don’t look for a match. Light one. Book link is affiliate link.