Freedom, Future, 50

What is it about being 50? It’s not like it’s a magic number or something…but for me it sort of feels that way. I stop and think likely over half my life is over now. And it gives me great pause—and the tendency to recollect, among other things.

I barely noticed my parents being 50. I was eight when my dad was 50, and an eight-year-old is still too preoccupied to take note of such things. I was 17 when my mom was 50, and I was too busy falling in love and “planning” (my plans were all fairly loosely formed) my future to pay much attention, except to scoff when she tried to pass along some time-tested wisdom. Now I’m the one asking what wisdom do I need to be passing on to others?

When I turned 50, some of the things I once thought were important no longer were. And some of the things that hadn’t been on my radar before were at the forefront, setting off alarms and flashing lights. Having my house clean to the point of sweating and barking orders before company arrives? I’m over it. The fact that there always seem to be several unfinished projects at home? I’ve accepted it. Feeling bad about not liking most plants enough to take the time to care for them? I don’t really see the point. When I’m ready for plants, I’ll know.

At 50, time doesn’t seem to be rushing me along anymore. I am able to find more joy in the time I have—it seems I am enjoying life’s moments to a fuller capacity. I think I’m finally realized that it doesn’t pay to rush. After all, what’s the point? My mom had realized this in her 40’s…and applied it to putting on make-up and the duration of grocery store trips (the ones where my dad would finally send me into the store—or back in, as the case often was—with the instructions, “Find out what’s taking your mom so long.”). I didn’t understand her philosophy then…but I’m beginning to now. She wanted to look her best in public—and to do that to her own personal standard required time. She wanted to find the best deals at the store, taking in all the sales, price comparisons, new products, and the like. That too required time. And she gave that to herself.

I no longer feel a sense of panic or uneasiness about first—getting to work, nor second—performing well. In fact, I was formally observed just recently at work, with no actual anxious feelings on my part. I didn’t know when it would occur, nor how long the duration of the observation would be. But I was determined to just do what I do, help my students, and try to keep a good, positive momentum. Could some things have been differently? More than likely. But what has changed in me is that I no longer feel it’s more important to prove myself to others than to do what I believe is best.

Some things I have become exceedingly more passionate about since turning 50: tattoos; having fun with my grandson; listening to those who are wiser than me; finding little things that make me happy. I’m more passionate about expressing what I feel inside—either out loud or in a visual way, such as through my tattoos. Sometimes I’m thinking something in a checkout line and I’ll share it with the person in front of me—partly to see if they’ve had similar thoughts, partly to see if I can provoke a smile or chuckle, and partly just to make a human connection. Sometimes I get the awkward silence or the tenuous agreement—other times, my willingness to just speak to strangers results in a delightful exchange. At 50, though, I care way less about the reaction I get.

I don’t want to convey the message that I’ve become self-absorbed. In actuality, I believe I have become more self-aware. I feel more comfortable being me than I did in my 30’s or 40’s. Aside from loving God, there are three things I want to love well in my 50’s—my family and friends, my callings…and me.

Why “50” seems to be my rite of passage to do what I want, love what I love, and feel what I feel—I can’t say. But I rather relish the freedom of it. So I wear my crazy leggings, get wild colors in my hair, take on new projects, and strongly consider the ‘maybe-I-should-try-that’s. No, I don’t see myself going scuba diving or visiting a nudist colony…but skydiving is not outside the realm of possibility. I want to see new things, go places I’ve never been, and accomplish things I never dreamed I would—or only dreamed I would.

I have always found the concept of “the Island of Misfit Toys” very sad. It shouldn’t be an island—it should be an airport! The place where the misfits get on the very flight that will take them to exactly where they do fit. I am in a flight pattern. I’m finding my “fit.” I’m forming my future. And I’m forging forward. At 50.