I never thought I would ever worry about turning that dreadful age of 50. I only remember always being young. 50 was so old. People always looked so tired and worn out at 50. My mother died at the age of 40 so turning 50 just wasn’t ever in my plans.
Wrong… turning 49 was not fun. The whole year has been a roller coaster ride. Knowing the year will end and I will get off and be that dreadful age. Why so dreadful? I know people who are 50 and older and they are doing and looking just fine. My God. My kids are all grown with families of their own. I never have to worry about day care or hear coughing all night knowing I will miss yet another day of work. The bathroom is only occupied by my partner and myself. No dirty clothes laying around. I can come and go as I please.
Maybe it’s the fact that I didn’t do too well in life when it comes to careers. Being just a CNA in a care home for over 24 years wasn’t my plan for my life but it happened anyway. Maybe it’s the fact that I never had the opportunity to travel or write a special book or be a quest on Oprah. Maybe it’s not the age thing after all. Maybe it’s a me thing. Maybe its time for me to take charge of me and control what I can control. Maybe there is life at 50.
I can still think for myself. I still make my own choices. I’m healthy. I have many good memories. Even the memories of children at home with running noses and sleepless nights. They are my memories. My life. Not a glorifying life but my life just the same. Wow. The more I think about turning that age of 50 the more excited I get. I can use this time to make changes and maybe the next 50 years will be, um not better but different.
Now if only I can get rid of the jiggle under my upper arms. That’s a whole other story.