I recently celebrated my 50th birthday, with adequate hoopla and the requisite teasing from my kids who remind me just how OLD I am now. Fifty feels…well, not all that different from 49 actually, at least not physically. I’m the same person I was a few weeks ago. Psychologically and mentally though, fifty seems big. Half a century. Whoa. It feels right to pause a little and take stock of life so far, to catch my breath and tip my virtual hat to the milestone. What have I learned in my half century?

Your body is okay as is.  My imperfect self, the self with more than a few grey hairs and extra pounds, is absolutely grand and worthy of love and care just “as is.” I am done with uncomfortable shoes. I am done comparing myself to impossible celebrities and women in magazines. What I am not done with is taking care of myself, inside and out, for my own sake, from a place of deep self-love and care, not from a place of self-criticism.
Having it all is a load of crap. I came of age in the 80s, when the narrative of “having it all” was front and center for women. We were told that it was all within our grasp, all at once: the perfect husband, 2.2 adorable children who were complete angels all the time, and a vibrant career climbing the corporate ladder (and of course, you looked drop-dead gorgeous the whole time). Nope nope nope. Reality isn’t so neat and tidy. Something’s got to give. The image we were handed as the ideal is completely impossible and unsustainable. We all make compromises and sacrifices. We muddle through. We do the best we can. And you know what? That’s okay too.
Aging has an upside. We are bombarded with all the negatives of aging: achy joints, reading glasses, wrinkles…but aging has an upside too. I am far more comfortable in my own skin than I was at 20, far less concerned with what the rest of the world thinks of me, and so much more relaxed. Through years of practice, my bullshit detector is finely tuned, and I don’t hesitate to use it. I speak my mind when I choose, but I also hold my peace. I don’t engage with every idiot who crosses my path.
Mortality is real.  When I was younger (kid, teen, even into young adulthood), my own death was unimaginable. It was a far off thing, an abstraction. Mom and dad were always there. Things would just go on the way they always did. Old people? Silly old people. Surely I would never be one of them.  By the time you reach 50, you can no longer do the la-la-la-I-can’t-hear-you charade. Time is tick-tick-ticking away. Mary Oliver’s question of “What will you do with your one wild and precious life?” pops to mind, demanding a thoughtful answer.
Not everyone will like you. Most of the time, it has to do with their issues and lives rather than anything you did. That’s life. Not everyone will like you, and trying to change that fact is an impossible task guaranteed to make you miserable. Don’t waste your energy. Focus instead on those who love your real, true, awesome self.
The path may be narrower, but we still have choices. Choose wisely. When I graduated from high school, life was full of possibility. There were a million things I could do, a million choices, a million possibilities. As time passes, one possibility after another drops away (joining the circus or winning an Oscar seems rather unlikely at this point), but choices still remain. Our destiny is not set in stone. Follow your bliss. Follow many blisses.
Everyone is doing the best they can. Be kind. Be gentle. You too are doing the best you can, so be kind and be gentle with yourself as well. On this last point, I want to be crystal clear. Be kind. Be gentle. Yes. But don’t be a doormat. Kindness needs to flow from a place of grounded-ness, strength and self-love. This is NOT a needy, plead-y, sticky-sweet niceness, the martyr type. Kindness begins with the self, and flows out from there.

I’m sure there’s more, but that’s what comes to mind at the moment. Ask me again when I turn 100.