First, let me let you know I am not 50. I still have about 80 or so days before I hit that milestone. This milestone feels different than any of the “0” ages previously. I shall now explain as this is a blog and not a sentence posting.

10- Woohoo, finally in the double digits. I remember my Aunt Luci telling me it would be another 90 years before I got to add another digit to my age. Hence, although no one seems to recognize turning ten as a momentous age, she assured me it was my first age-related milestone. That day, I learned that birthdays are not just to celebrate who you are as a person each year; it is also about how far you have come. Since that day, I have seen birthdays differently and wondered what they had in store for me.

20-Okay, this one was a weird kind of a bummer. I am in my 20’s, yet still not old enough to partake (legally, at least) in spirits. There was the thrill that I felt of finally being taken seriously. I mean, I was no longer in my teens. I was a married Army wife working 2 jobs and attending school full time. Life was mine for the taking, and I couldn’t wait to dive in. A new chapter was starting; I was free to create and become the woman I was meant to be. Dang, it, I had the world by the short and curlies, and life was good.

30-Okay, the ’20s were rough. I had two jobs because I needed both to live a somewhat enjoyable life. If I wanted to be able to come home for visits, by myself the occasional treat, and be able to care for my aging cats, I had to work. A lot. And I was now the dreaded 30. I wasn’t young anymore. There was a common saying, “Don’t trust anyone over 30,” and here I was. I didn’t feel the 30 I remember my mother and friend’s mothers reaching when we were in elementary school. I had no children and couldn’t imagine taking care of multiple kids like so many of the other Army wives I was friends with. I started dreading 30 when I was 28. I went into a year-long quasi-depression at the big 3-0. After 25, when my car insurance rates started decreasing, I didn’t see any reason to want another birthday. Can’t I just stay 30 forever?

40-Okay, this one stung like a hornet. 35 was the last “I am finally old enough” age, and that was to become president. Holy cow, I was old enough to be entrusted with the entirety of the US of A. Did I think I was prepared? Heck no. I mean, I had been divorced at 31, lived by myself back in my hometown of Baltimore, MD, and now was in a relationship. I had three wonderful cats, and life seemed good(ish). Like when I was turning 30, I had a bad year, 38, where I was trying to make peace with such a huge milestone. By the time I hit 39, I had fun with being in my 30’s for one more year before the dreaded “40.” Turning 40 meant I was officially middle age, and all of my body systems would start the slow dying process, from my female organs to my collegian; I was a body that had turned the page and started dying. 40 was the horror I imagined it was when I was young.

50-Although not there yet, I know I am gonna love it. What has changed? Well, a lot. When I first turned 40, I had been through a rough ’30s. I imagined life would keep getting worse. I turned 40 with a job that gave me PTSD from such an aggressively abusive boss, living paycheck to paycheck, and just being in a constant funk. I hoped my 40’s would be different, and they were! I met my spouse when I was just about to turn 45. We have been madly in love since our first date. We bought a house. At 47, I became a first-time homeowner, and my house is one of the best in my new hometown in the Upper Valley of New Hampshire. Because of the size of my new hometown, everyone knows who I am and where my house is. In fact, when I got my car tags transferred, the town clerk said she drove past my car and was wondering when I would finally get the tags transferred. Life was the best it had ever been. I was still dreading 50, but hand in hand with my spouse and I was going to make it through. Then, the worst thing possible happened. I lost, very suddenly, one of my nieces. It was my mother’s first grandchild, my only sibling’s oldest, who died in a freak accident car crash. Next weekend is her Angelversary, and I will be traveling to her hometown of Dover, PA, to celebrate the wonderful person that was taken far too young.

So what does this all mean for me turning 50? I am embracing it. Growing old is a privilege denied to far too many. I have watched people I knew, people I have grown up with, slowly die off. It doesn’t matter how it happened, some by their own hand, some due to their own actions, some even due to disease and heart attacks. I am embracing the knowledge that I am “Old.” My wife is 370 days younger than me, so we have chosen the retirement date to retire together. Now, fans of my writing, I will never retire from writing; at least, I hope not. I mean, we will no longer have to go to work for “The Man.” I even have plans for my 50th. I am getting the Shingles vaccination. I am also joining AARP. The two milestones I was dreading, I am now looking forward to. I have embraced that my life is probably more than halfway completed. I have made my peace with that. I know that when I die, whether it is nothing or paradise or something in between, I have had a life that, although not easy, I still loved in the end. And isn’t that really what a successful life is all about?