Celebrating 50 years of life, and plenty more adventures to
come
When I was a kid, I used to think a lot about a lot of things:
how I’d like to meet cartoonist Charles Schulz. What the surface of
the moon felt like to the astronauts who walked on it. Why girls
couldn’t wear pants to school. Important stuff like that.
Celebrating 50 years of life, and plenty more adventures to come
When I was a kid, I used to think a lot about a lot of things: how I’d like to meet cartoonist Charles Schulz. What the surface of the moon felt like to the astronauts who walked on it. Why girls couldn’t wear pants to school. Important stuff like that.
I was also obsessed with figuring out what age I would be at different points in my history. For instance, I knew that in the year 1980, I’d be 21. And in the year 2000, I’d be 41.
The grand old age of 41, of course, seemed like a long way away then, and impossibly ancient.
I never got around to contemplating at what point I’d be age 50. That seemed beyond the realm of what could be achieved by a normal human being.
And of course, here I am, looking at that elderly number square in the face.
The big 5-0 is right around the corner for me – tomorrow, as a matter of fact. And of course, here I am on the brink, thinking, “Gee, this doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to be at all.”
Considering half a century has gone by, it doesn’t seem that long.
It’s a truism that the years seem to speed up as we age. I feel like my life has been in overdrive for about the last 25 years, so crammed that time has flown by. It started in earnest when my oldest was born, and has accelerated ever since.
So where have the years gone? Beats me.
High school, college, work, marriage, kids, pets, and all of the attendant paperwork and fuss have made it a very full life indeed.
I keep waiting for it to slow down, and it never does.
Although for some people turning 50 would be an occasion for doom and gloom, I’m actually feeling remarkably cheery about the whole thing.
I am pleasantly surprised to find that I am not doddering and decrepit. I’m not using a cane or a wheelchair, and have no chronic conditions or concerns. In fact, I’m healthier and stronger than I’ve ever been. Who’d have thunk it?
Weirdly, I feel better now that I did when I was in my 30s, when I was chasing two rug rats who were constantly infecting me with their germs. I was exhausted and sick most of that decade.
It has taken me 50 years, but I have finally come to terms with myself. I have confidence in my abilities that I didn’t possess in my 20s or 30s. I like myself pretty well. I have peace within, at least most of the time.
I still have good hair days, not more than a few wrinkles, and a memory that is more or less intact. Despite what my kids say, I don’t have Oldtimers’ Disease. Yet.
I have a job I love, two teenage boys who seem to have turned out well, and I live near numerous family and friends in one of the most beautiful areas of the world. Life is good.
And it isn’t anywhere near over, either. I’m looking forward to the next half of life and the adventures that await.
I know they’re out there.
