50. Today (April 15) marks a half a century that I’ve been experiencing life on this planet. They say age is just a number. On the one hand, that isn’t true no matter how much you want it to be. We all know that no matter what we do, our bodies change over time. Gravity is less kind to us, we start graying or thinning or both, laugh lines multiply (and often worry lines do, too), and joints start creaking and popping a bit more than they used to. We have to work harder to maintain a level of fitness that our quarter century selves would have found easy. But, on the other hand, it kinda is true. Sure, we become “wiser” and our perspectives change over the years; but ask just about anyone if they feel 40 or 50 or 90, and they’ll usually tell you that in their minds they feel just like the same person they were at 20 or 12. There are people who feel 60 at 20 and vice versa. There are people who act 20 at 60 and vice versa.
Growing up, our age mile markers after our first decade come in quick succession. 13, 16, 18, and 21 (in the U.S. at least), but after 21, the biggies are our decadal birthdays. Each decade of living is an accomplishment. And it truly is. So many people want to hide from their years of living. Deny age and avert our eyes from our own mental images for what it means to be 40, 50, 60, on up. We are dragged into and through our middle and elder years kicking and screaming, when we should be celebrating and wearing our badges of life with honor. I think the latter is more likely to happen in countries where the elderly are revered and where death is not such a scary and ominous event. Life is a collection of experiences, not material goods or status or the ability to participate in the 40 hour or more work week.
I wondered how I would feel when I hit 50. I will admit, I did not enjoy turning 30. It wasn’t the number, really, it was where I was in my life. At that age, I’d recently returned to living in the U.S. after living in Germany. I’d broken an engagement to a British man I’d met while traveling. And I had no clue what I wanted to do next. I thought I should be a “grownup” by then, but I didn’t feel like one, and I didn’t want the life that most grownups I knew had. I just didn’t know what it was I didwant, other than to travel, and I had no idea how to make that happen for a living. But by 40, I’d made my way down to Texas, into grad school, and over to Europe a few more times. I was enjoying my life. When I hit 40, as a woman, I felt more freedom to just be me. To worry a bit less about what others thought I should be and instead worry about what I thought I should be. Or, more accurately, whoI thought I should be. I loved turning 40.
Turning 50 is interesting to me. I’ve continued to evolve over the past decade. I’ve traveled, had my heart hurt and heal, earned some letters after my name, landed on and leapt from a “career” life, changed how I eat, embraced being single, made loads of mistakes, watched the changing world with worry, discovered peaceful moments aplenty, and learned a lot more about who I am and who I want to be. We like to think we are much wiser as we age, and I think we are, certainly (or hopefully?), when it comes to understanding our own experiences. We like to think we know what’s best for those generations coming up after us. And sometimes that’s true. Sometimes we might have just the right advice to offer. Sometimes we have something we can teach others based on our experiences. And often, young people have something to teach us. Often, people need our ears more than our advice. Often, the experiences we had growing up don’t reflect what younger generations experience, or even what others of our own and older generations experienced.
The longer I’ve lived and the more I’ve learned, the more I’ve come to recognize how much I don’t know. And that’s okay. Actually, I think it’s freeing to accept that you don’t have all the answers and you don’t even have to. It makes life more of an adventure when you don’t have to always know. There is so much to discover about life, about the world, and about others, if we take the time to observe and listen. To experience our moments with ourselves and with other living beings without judgement and to be fully present in those moments. So, as I leave my 40s and begin rolling towards the next decadal achievement, I hope to live this adventure called life fully, taking risks and being comfortable with the not knowing, and to be present in my days, whatever it is I am doing. Today…I’ll start with smelling the flowers and feeling the crisp air as I ride my bike on the country roads of central Illinois.
Peace. And thanks for continuing to follow along. I am so grateful to all of you reading this!