I feel I ought to have something impressive or profound to say about becoming 50. However, no wisdom has settled down like a crown upon my head. I have not grown eyes at the back of my head or turned into Janus overnight.
I like fifty so far. It’s a half century! I’ve looked forward to it for a year. I get to tick a different box in the demographic surveys. I can definitely say I am middle-aged and nobody disagrees. I am, in fact probably 5/8ths of the way to the end now, statistically speaking.
In a long-running annual ritual, I tried on the short brown dress from 1990s. It’s not tight at all this year and my legs still look OK sticking out of it. Maybe better than usual, with all the bicycling I do these days.
Fifty is bringing changes, for sure. My mind is a little loose these days. I lose words and my focus drifts. Is it OK to blame Facebook for my attention deficit? Probably not.
My skin is looser, too. Drapey. It sort of hangs under my chin and around my eyes. Should I do something about that? No way. I’ll do nothing but embrace it. My hands are rougher, too, and the finger joints ache more. That I can blame on technology. Smartphone arthritis. I can do something about that.
My spirit is as young as ever. Somehow, I think that is true for everyone, everywhere at every stage of life. At least, I hope so. I like being 8 on the inside. 🙂
