This morning, I woke up asking myself this question: How long have I lived in denial? You may wonder how this question came to be. Well, my husband and I did something that we said we wouldn’t do ever again … we moved ourselves into our new home. After several days of boxing and unboxing, dismantling and reassembling beds and dressers, and carrying living room furniture that was originally delivered by big, burly men, we hurt in places we didn’t know existed.

Was it because of ego? Were we just being cheap? Why did we put ourselves through such torture? I liken it to childbirth. Yes, it hurts like crazy to push something the size of a watermelon out of an area the size of a grape. However, when that precious newborn is swaddled in your arms, you don’t really remember the pain. But there is a lingering truth here: I am not getting any younger. 

I have just turned (cue the announcing trumpet melody) 50 years old. Fifty. Years. Old. That is half a century. For kicks and giggles, I looked up items that share a birth year with me. Fruity Pebbles, Count Chocula, and Hamburger Helper all came to be in 1971. I guess I am in good company. 

I lived with my grandparents a good part of my childhood. I remember thinking they were old, didn’t do much away from the house, had plastic covers on all their furniture, and smelled funny. How ironic that the scent of Vics Vapor Rub and Ben Gay now bring me joy! What I didn’t realize back then is that my grandparents worked very hard (and without complaining) to provide a roof over our head, three home-cooked meals a day, and unconditional love for a household of eight. My grandparents were ordinary and amazing at the same time.  

As I look back to the ’70s and compare that time to 2021, things are so incredibly different. For example, back in my day, we didn’t have the ability to watch television 24 hours a day sucking your brains dry with 2,456 channels. We had five TV stations that actually turned off overnight. Do you remember that annoying high-pitched musical note that played behind the video color bars until morning? 

Back in my day, we didn’t have social media platforms that invaded every area of our lives all day long – often leading to cyberbullying, social anxiety, depression, and poor self image. We were taught to work hard, respect others (even when you didn’t agree with them), and in everything, do your best. I know, I know – it all sounds idyllic and maybe even archaic, but life seemed just more … simple.  

Don’t get me wrong, I love the fact that I can simply ask Google any question and get an answer within milliseconds instead of pulling out a four-pound encyclopedia. And I think it’s awesome that Alexa can tell me the weather in Timbuktu and turn off my household lights in a single command. I guess what I long for is to still be relevant without being a relic. 

I recently read an article about folks who did great things after 50. Listed among the many were Colonel Sanders, who created the finger-lickin’ good KFC chicken chain, and the incredible Grandma Moses, who turned out her first painting at age 76. These folks, like many others, didn’t let their age limit the opportunities for greatness. Fifty isn’t just a number, it’s a lifetime of experience. 

Sophia Loren once said, “There is a fountain of youth: It is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life, and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.”

I am learning to not use my age as an excuse to slow down but rather to see my worth as I continue this journey we call life. Live well, my friends.