I turned 40 last September, expecting a smooth transition into the “new decade” hype: maybe a fresh wardrobe (after my spring cleaning fiasco), a few pearls of wisdom, and some great new goals. Instead? Perimenopause strolled in uninvited, put her feet up, and began rearranging the furniture of my identity. Suddenly there were hot flashes at 2 a.m., brain fog thick enough to spread on toast, ringing in my ears, and a meltdown in a doctor’s office (the first I’d been in since Brooks was born… seven years ago). It was, shall we say, humbling? But here’s the thing: Nothing will clarify your priorities faster than waking up at 3 a.m., drenched in sweat, debating whether to start a gratitude journal or just go ahead and call the mental institution—because honestly, it might be quicker. Lesson number one: Reinvention at this stage of life begins when your body very clearly tells you the old operating system is no longer supported. And you know what? That’s not a crisis, it’s a privilege. So here’s what 40 is teaching me about life, business, and the actual art of reinvention.

Quiet Luxury > Loud Hustle

At 20, I was addicted to hustle amidst starting our family. At 30, I perfected it—and added burnout for good measure, all while continuing to birth beautiful babies and building businesses between diaper changes. But forty? Forty is here for quiet luxury.

What does that mean?

It means work that feels like silk, not sandpaper. Projects with depth, even if fewer in number. A calendar that actually allows me to breathe.

Turns out, cultivating a well-designed life is less about curating the perfect image for the ‘gram so everyone can “ooh” and “aah” and more about curating space—mental, physical, all of the things, every area of life. If an opportunity comes with a flashing “URGENT!!!” sign, I now whisper “pass” in my best Miranda Priestly impersonation and go back to sipping my Harmony. Because my well-being and peace? That is a non-negotiable.

Lesson number two: Simplicity isn’t laziness; it’s strategic elegance.

From Busy to Purposeful

Remember the early 2000s when we glorified being “so busy” like it was a badge of honor? I was so there for it. But then my hormones staged a coup last fall, and I learned an inconvenient truth: the body keeps the receipts.

So, I made the switch: I traded chaos for clarity.

Now, I ask myself three simple questions when it comes to work, personal, and everything in between:

1. Does this project actually excite me?

2. Does this commitment calm my mind, or just add to the clutter?

3. Does this scroll session leave me inspired or exhausted?

If it doesn’t pass at least one of these filters, I graciously decline. No guilt, no second-guessing. Time is my most precious resource, and I’m no longer willing to waste it.

Lesson number three? Purpose is the new productivity.

Business That Feels Like Home

It used to feel like I had to chase every fleeting trend the algorithm threw my way or say yes to every opportunity that crossed my desk—just to keep up with the business “game.” But now? I build brands like I curate spaces in my home: timeless, functional, welcoming, and with zero patience for cheap and tacky.

And if I feel like that about my business? I know I am not alone. Clients come to me wanting a brand identity designed. And now they leave talking about legacy. Why? Because clarity over chaos is contagious—and everyone’s tired of tacky, car-salesman captions and copy-paste reels. 

Lesson number four: If your business doesn’t feel like home, it’ll always feel like a pair of shoes that’s just slightly too tight.

Style, Simplified and Elevated

Somewhere between the low‑rise jeans of my 20s and the statement‑necklace era of my 30s, my closet called a meeting. The “I’ll-fit-into-these‑again” skinnies, the impulse‑buy blouses, and the nine identical sweatshirts in different colors weren’t sparking joy—just reminding me I’d let my personal style go on sabbatical (understandable, given the decade‑long mountain climb otherwise known as life).

So I did what any rational, newly‑minted forty‑year‑old in mid‑reinvention (remember, it’s not a crisis) would do: I pruned, purged, and promised myself that from here on out, less is more—especially when the “less” is exactly right.

• Uniform, but elevated. Denim that fits like a glove, a white button‑down that doesn’t hang, and one ridiculously perfect trench. The goal is to look pulled-together without even trying, even when running errands. 

• Quality over quantity. Sweaters that don’t pill, leather that ages like a fine wine, and shoes I can stand in longer than fifteen minutes. (Radical, I know.)

• Signature pieces > impulse purchases. If it doesn’t make me feel like her—the woman I’ve always pictured myself as—it stays on the rack.

And the best part? Despite the fact that my closet is extremely slim while I rebuild, my morning routine now takes five minutes, max. No more wardrobe meltdowns, no more shame‑spiral over tags still attached because every single thing in my closet is what I want to reach for.

Lesson number five: Your closet is real estate—reserve it for pieces that earn their rent. The woman you want to be is waiting right there on the streamlined rack, sipping hormone-stabilizing beverage and wondering what took you so long.

The Wrench That Is Perimenopause

Navigating the hormonal plot twist of last fall has been no easy feat, and there were months that felt like I was literally losing my mind, definitely not feeling like myself. But through trial and error over the past six months, I found a sweet spot of things that actually have made all the difference:

1. Sleep is sacred — No phone in bed (like it’s 1999), mouth tape, all the things. I’m doing the best I can possibly do in this area given the fact that sometimes Blair’s blood sugars need a nurse’s nightly check.

2. Movement for sanity, not vanity — Morning ruck walks, weighted workouts, Pilates, impromptu dance parties with my kids. Every single day. This is another one of those non-negotiables because it has changed my mental health and is transforming my body.

3. Food that loves me back — Protein, veggies, and hydration. Anything else doesn’t even get a second glance.

4. Supplements & support — Regular lab tests, finding the right functional doc, and this tincture (the holy grail of surviving this season thus far).

5. Rigid boundaries — So firm they could double as a security detail — Calendar blocks, email curfews, and a default ‘no’ that only gets a ‘yes’ after careful consideration.

It wasn’t perfect, but lesson number six? Reinvention isn’t about perfection—it’s about customization. It’s not about fitting into someone else’s idea of “the right way” to do things. You get to decide what serves you, and what doesn’t. And that’s the beauty of it.

Mood Board Manifesto

So what’s a woman to do with all of this strategic shedding and behind-the-scenes metamorphosis? Easy: I pulled a classic designer move and built a mood board—a visual permission slip for the next‑decade version of me.

Because here’s the truth: even at forty, we get to renew, refresh, and carve out space for what’s possible. Our twenties and thirties? Strictly research and development, friends. Now we get to audit the data—keep the confidence, lose the clutter, reclaim the spark.

I’m sharing my board below so you can snag a little inspiration for your own reinvention. Let it remind you the best version of you was never lost—she just needed clearer direction (and more experience).

And yes, I even made it my desktop background. Because when you surround yourself with your vision, it stops being a daydream and starts looking suspiciously like a plan. And yes, I made sure you can grab my Canva template to make your own – click below!

What’s Next Anyway

More intentional work and more life beyond it. Storytelling that feels like kitchen‑table conversations. Photos for the memory books, not the algorithm. A personal style that makes me love being a woman. Bigger risks, smaller ego. And absolutely zero algorithms dictating my worth.

I’m naming this decade “The Decade of Depth”—no more surface‑level anything. My life, my home, my work: all built to mean something, not just look like something. Only things that truly matter, no more ticking boxes for the sake of ticking boxes.

If you’re knee‑deep in your own reinvention—hormonal, professional, or existential—pull up a chair. What season are you in right now?

Drop a comment or send a carrier pigeon. Let’s trade stories and survival hacks.

Here’s to building it all—life, business, everything—to feel like home, honor the quiet luxury of simplicity and make room for beautiful reinvention.