Well, here I am heading into the final curve of the arrival of my dreaded fiftieth. I am still slightly delusional that I am totally okay with this because I’m not! I’m really, really not … but I’m going to have to be soon, so I kind of do talk about it all the time! I’m certain my family is getting pretty sick and tired!
Tonight we were actually discussing what, if any, type of commemoration I was hoping to partake in, a big bash, a gathering of close friends and family, a closet celebration with one measly candle on a cake? While in conversation, my son sheepishly asked, “Mom, how old are you going to be again?” Fully knowing the answer, of course. “Fifty … right?” “Right.” His response, “So.” And I said, “SO!” What do you mean so?! It’s terrible! And his pat answer to that is, “Mom, it’s just one more day.” Brilliant child! WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THAT? It IS just one more day … one more day past the 365 days I spent being forty-nine. The day before I am forty-nine, next … just. Another. Day. So what? Which will lead to another and another and another. One day after another I will slowly become fifty. Just because the clock strikes twelve at any given time does not make me a particular person at a particular age in a particularly old body.
True, the body has undergone some drastic changes these past 365 … right before my eyes even, as I fight diligently on a daily basis to resist. But that doesn’t really mean…well, yes, I guess, physically, it does. I’ve been saying THAT for years, too! I don’t look/act/feel my age but the truth of the reality is my body has been around a long while and it will do what a fifty year old body will do, despite the fact I am fighting it tooth and nail to comply with my wishes of being twenty-five again.
Twenty-five? Did I say twenty-five? I wouldn’t want to be twenty-five again for all the tea in China. I’d like that lean and mean figure back, sure, in a heartbeat but all that angst crap, Nah.
So, I will create a new mantra for myself beginning today, seventy-six days and counting, that, “Hey, it’s just one more day!” fabulous mantra. I’ll even share it if anyone else would like to hear that echoing in their own sea of denial.
Okay, I’ll pick up where I left off … it’s now forty-one days until the biggie … I somehow couldn’t bear to focus on this topic a moment longer and pushed my rambling aside. And that little mantra I mention, well, it’s not working. What am I going to do? Put on my big girl panties and deal, I guess? I am fully aware that I am not the first and only woman to be turning fifty. It’s not all about me ALL the time! But right now I am going to be self-indulgent; I must find a way of being ok with this but I guess in the natural course of things, it really doesn’t have to happen within a given timeframe. It will probably be a gentle acclimation over the 365 days that follow because, of course, happenstance will dictate that once I do reach that pinacle, God willing, there will be fifty-one right behind it. I suppose that each year that passes will bring the acceptance, maturity and clarity that I hear tell about and a transformation will arise as well.
Sometimes I’m unbelieving. All my younger than I gal pals try to help reinforce my denial but despite their cheers of encouragement I will persevere and continue to seek the clarity that I anticipate should be coming along with the arrival of this amazing milestone.
Any advice anyone would like to share with the one who’d like to think age and wisdom arrive in the same limo would greatly appreciated your input. I’m stumped on this one!