I’ve been complaining lately about my upcoming birthday and apparently that led some of my friends to think I was balky about turning fifty. Not at all! I’ve wanted to be 50 since I turned 21! I have always thought it was a marvelous age to be! Halfway to a hundred! And ready for a Renaissance!
Unfortunately, I knew I’d have to get through my 40’s first, and that has been a really daunting task.
The reason I’m so bummed is that I am one month away from the Big Day and I’m so far away from being ‘Fab and Fifty’ that I have a real sense of failure about my lack of achievements. I really had planned on being skinny, good looking and rich by now so I could turn 50 with a sense of having ‘arrived.’
I don’t mean like I’m suddenly living in a penthouse in New York, not that kind of ‘arrived’. I mean, arriving on the doorstep of my 50’s with my appropriate luggage packed and eager to step across the threshold.
Instead, it’s going to be me, ruffed up and bloody, being kicked to the curb out of a long dark car in the murky twilight hours, and rolling up to the doorstep in a heap after having run afoul of the Life Lesson Gang for the last 49 and 11/12ths years.