Non Sequiturs on Turning 56

Oh, hi. It’s been a minute. I almost had a sneezing fit after blowing the dust off this blog. I hate that I have neglected this little corner of the internet that I’ve had since 2008. Maybe I’ll be more prolific this year. A birthday is a fine time to make a resolution, way better than amidst the typically drunken shenanigans of New Year’s Eve. I know better than to make any promises then. But a birthday brings perspective as I simultaneously look in the rear view mirror and at the expanse of road ahead.

I am now closer to 60 than 50.

I guess that makes me old. I dunno. I feel young. Sometimes I still look around the room and remember that I’m supposed to be the grown up. It seems that some people even look up to me, figuratively, that is. I sure hope I am not shrinking because I have no inches to spare! Some people my age are grandmothers, while I still have the sense of humor of a prepubescent boy, and my immaturity ratchets up when I’m with my friends.

My shape is shifting.

I embraced gray hair so this is who I am now.

Suddenly my knee aches for no reason, but it’s been raining for days and nothing hurts or twitches so there’s that.

I am actually thinking about retirement. One day. I love what I do, and there’s work to be done.

Ice cream for dinner is totally acceptable.

I enjoy an expertly crafted cocktail. I do love a Negroni.

At this age, having zero fucks left is now official. I think this is also the st(age) I become invisible. Do people see me as old and irrelevant? Have I lost any sense of cool I ever had? Going gray certainly exacerbates that. But then again, there are women of a certain age paving new paths in aging. I’m not here to pretend I’m something I’m not. I have no desire to reclaim my youth. I would, however, like to have some semblance of my metabolism back. Aging is not for the weak. And aging is inevitable.

It is, in fact, a gift.

I know too many people who didn’t come this far, so I owe to those friends to continue to chase joy. The alternative is admittedly inevitable, but I’d like to delay that as long as possible. I kind of like growing older, honestly. I now have license to be the crotchety old lady who’s been inhabiting part of my psyche for decades. She’s coming out to play.

I do still have my playful, sometimes immature, side. I love a good pun and a “that’s what she said” joke, much to my children’s chagrin. I dance in the kitchen use a spatula as a microphone as I belt out Abba or Whitney Houston. I want to replace our entry hall chandelier with a disco ball. I wear prints that are entirely too loud and sparkles for everyday wear. But I also wear sensible shoes and sunblock everyday. I’m mindful of my posture, stretch, and do Pilates. I do not aspire to be a 50s fitness influencer but I do want to be healthy to conquer all the dreams I have yet to attain.

There’s traveling to do. I mean, how is it I have never been to Greece?! And I want to visit new continents with my sons.

I have a memoir to write. I need to get off my ass to dust off that book proposal.

There are many more flavors of Jeni’s ice cream to eat.

And I still don’t own any Chanel.

My life is good. It’s a life I didn’t imagine for myself because I hadn’t had the role models to emulate. But Mac Daddy and I have built a happy life. We share the same sense of irreverence and sarcasm and can happily poke fun at each other. We have raised incredible sons. I can openly weep at the mere thought of them when I reflect on their character and kindness and sense of humor.

I’m going to settle into this old age knowing that I am young at heart. There’s bubbly to pop, cake to eat, and riches to be grateful for.

Let’s do this, 56.