Wherever you go, there you are.”  –Jon Kabat-Zin

My father always said that life begins at 40. It was his experience that by the time you turn 40, you not only have a better sense of who you are, you also learn to let go of what other people think and to keep your own counsel when it comes to life decisions. When I turned 40, he sent me a birthday card that would typically be given to parents of a newborn baby congratulating me on a new beginning.

New beginnings have been on my mind lately. My daughter is now in middle school; I’ve been questioning the direction of my career; I’m examining my friendships and family relationships; and I’m starting to look ahead. What happens when we’re empty nesters in just six short years? What is next for me and my husband personally and as a couple?

Change takes many forms and I’ve never been someone who actively seeks or embraces a lot of change. I like to feel settled, rooted. But if the first 41 years have taught me anything, it’s that change is both inevitable and necessary. To be interesting, growing and alive, we must change and evolve. Perhaps the reason I shy away from it is because of a tendency to think of change as sweeping. Large scale. Disruptive.

Maybe it’s time to change my way of thinking about change (pun intended).

I’ll start with what happens on my yoga mat. Change can be very subtle and very impactful at the same time. Changes in a pose–or in the physical feeling created by a pose–can be as simple as a flexed foot, a deeper bend in the knee, or a deep breath. Very often, an adjustment or change to a pose would be imperceptible to an onlooker but deeply felt by the yogi. No one can see that you’ve gone deeper into a pose, but you can certainly feel it.

Off the mat, change doesn’t have to come in the form of a major overhaul. Perhaps the most profoundly felt changes are the ones that happen internally; the ones that, like a yoga practice, are imperceptible to an onlooker. Certainly physical change can be a catalyst, but nothing really changes if it doesn’t change internally. Perhaps it’s less about “shaking things up” and more about “digging in”.

In a recent interview with actress Emma Thompson, a journalist asked if she agreed that 50 was the new 35. Thompson’s response was perfect:

“Can I just say, very loudly, bollocks. If you look after yourself and you’re healthy, then you’ll have the energy to do things. But not to recognise getting older for what it is? I do think the infantilisation of our generation is one of the huge issues of our time. People wanting to be 35 when they’re 50 makes me think: why? Why don’t you be 50 and be good at that? And also embody the kinds of choices that are sustainable at that age. I see people starting life over and over again. And you want to say: just go deeper into the one you’ve got. Because you can skim very easily. It’s set up for that because we’re such a disposable society. And I think that relationships are regarded as more disposable than they were, and that’s short-sighted of us.”

“Just go deeper into the one you’ve got.” This is the line that stayed with me. Maybe I don’t need to reinvent my career, move to a new city or plan a epic empty-nester experience. Maybe instead, I need to make some adjustments in the form of subtle change. Work harder to nurture my friendships; take on clients in a new industry; develop a new hobby that my husband and I both enjoy. In other words, maybe I just need to go deeper, not wider.

Large-scale change has its place. Sometimes we need or want a new beginning or a fresh perspective. But I’ve noticed that people can use significant change as a way of dodging the smaller–and ironically, bigger–changes that we sometimes need to make. If we struggle in a place, a job or a relationship, changing the external variables temporarily distracts us from taking a closer look at ourselves. If we overlook the chance to be introspective, we doom ourselves to repeating the same patterns in the next city, job or relationship. After all, we bring our problems with us.

The tumultuous twenties are behind me; the “getting established” thirties are also behind me. I’m no longer in acquisition mode, I’m in experiential mode. I’m still seeking, but not the same kinds of things. I’ve got the trappings of an adult life: a husband and marriage, a child, a career, a home, two cars in the garage. I’m craving new experiences, deeper relationships, and more connection with myself and others. Ultimately, I’m trying to bring the different facets of my life together into a coherent whole–which means letting some things go so that I can make room for other things.

Maybe I don’t eschew change after all. Maybe I crave it. But in the form of depth, rather than volume.

I’m starting to realize that this is what my dad meant when he said that life begins at 40. You’ve settled into your adult life and are no longer seeking to form an identity. Instead, you begin to embrace who you are, to live it and project it with greater clarity and honesty. In doing that, we have the opportunity to get know ourselves better; to discover nuances and ways of being that we always knew were there, but never fully explored.

Change happens to us all whether we want it or not. Sometimes what we need in any given moment is a whole different pose. Other times, though, it’s just a flexed foot and a deep breath.