I’m trying not to be old. But I’m here on the other side of 50, and I can feel myself sliding down a gray hair path. I keep hearing how 50 is the new 30. Well, that’s fine and dandy to say, but how many 30-year-olds have hot flashes, flabby stomachs and need reading glasses (on top of contacts) to read those out-of-state tuition bills that appear in my email?
The girls in their 30s that I know don’t get at least one letter per week from AARP. My daily vitamin is a “senior” vitamin, for God’s sake. The rock and roll music I grew up to, the music that lived and breathed rebellion, is now a golden oldie. My husband is more interested in getting a good night’s sleep than wild sex sessions. Last year I had an anal fissure! So far, the second half of life is not super.
It’s not that I want to look like Christie Brinkley. Well, actually I do, but I’ve sort of given up on that one. She looked just like Barbie 30 years ago, and she still does today. She’s probably had a little work done. But it’s not just trying to look younger. I know it’s impossible for me to look 30. But I don’t want to feel my life is pretty much over. Oh sure, everyone will tell me stories about how Grandma Moses didn’t start painting until after 80. Let’s face it, girls. We live in a crazy, youth-obsessed culture.
So, I’ve started a journey to reinvent myself. Is it possible? Can you really start over at this stage of life? Can fifty really be nifty? Guess I’m going to at least explore that possibility. Care to join me?
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