The pretty girl at the medical research center asked me for the 20th time:
“How old are you?”
I smiled and said, “50.”
And somehow, saying it out loud shocked ME more than it seemed to shock her. 😩😭😂
I mean, I KNOW I’m 50.
I was there. I watched the years pass. I celebrated the birthdays. I have the evidence. 😂
But hearing myself say it to someone else is different.
And this is not even the first time this has happened. Someone else asked me yesterday how old I am.
Now I’m starting to wonder…
Why is everybody suddenly interested in my age?! 😂
But then I realized what is really eating me up.
I know what eats humans up.
It’s not necessarily the number.
It’s the prejudice we have about certain ages.
Think about it.
When we are young, we create these little mental pictures of what people in their 40s, 50s, 60s and beyond are supposed to look like.
At 20, a 50-year-old seemed OLD.
At 30, 50 still seemed pretty far away.
And then you get to 50 and suddenly you are standing in front of the mirror thinking:
“Wait a minute…”
“Do I LOOK that old?”
“How come I don’t FEEL that old?”
“Who told me THIS is what 50 was supposed to feel like?” 😩😂
Because somewhere along the way, I developed this idea that when I became 50, I would somehow feel like one of those “older people” I used to see when I was younger.
You know the people I mean.
The people who seemed so grown.
So settled.
So… OLD. 😂
And now I have arrived at the very age I once assigned all those characteristics to.
Except nobody told my brain.
I still laugh at ridiculous things.
I still have dreams.
I still get excited about new possibilities.
I still have moments when I feel like I’m figuring life out as I go.
And sometimes I look in the mirror and think, “Girl, when did THIS happen?” 😂
But maybe this is one of the strangest things about growing older.
You don’t wake up one morning and suddenly become the age on your birth certificate.
You simply keep being yourself.
The number changes.
The face changes a little.
The body reminds you that it has been keeping score. 😩😂
But inside, there is still so much of the same person who once dreamed, laughed, hoped, made mistakes, started over and wondered what life would become.
Maybe that is why I am beginning to think differently about age.
We spend so much of our lives trying not to get old that we forget that getting older is actually a privilege.
There are years we once prayed to reach.
There are experiences we have only gained because we stayed alive long enough to receive them.
There are lessons we could never have learned at 20.
And there is a kind of beauty that comes from realizing that you don’t have to become some imaginary version of a “50-year-old.”
You can just be YOU at 50.
So yes…
I am 50.
Apparently. 😂
And apparently, I am going to have to stop being surprised every time I say it.
Although I reserve the right to look in the mirror occasionally and ask:
“Are we sure?” 😩😭😂
Because I may have turned 50…
but I certainly don’t feel like the 50-year-olds I imagined when I was 20.
Maybe that’s the secret.
Perhaps none of us ever really feel like our age.
We just keep living, loving, laughing, growing and becoming — while the numbers quietly change behind us.
And then one day somebody asks you how old you are.
And you say:
“50.”
And YOU are the one who needs a minute. 😂❤️
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