As I watch the dog days of summer seamlessly pass by, I can’t help being reminded I have an upcoming birthday. Now that I’ve passed fifty, it seems they come around at an all too alarming rate these days …. at least much faster than they used to when I looked forward to those same milestones everyone can’t wait to hit, like turning sixteen and getting your driver’s license, at eighteen I was considered an adult – at least by legal standards – and at twenty-one I could finally walk into any bar or club and order myself a drink. It didn’t matter that I got carded well into my thirties. At least in terms of aging, I had finally earned the right to get drunk and act like a fool just like the rest of the discerning adult population, so celebrate I did.

It wasn’t too many years after that I began dreading the day I was born. During my twenty-ninth year, I was so traumatized by the fact I was turning thirty, I scarcely enjoyed a single day. It was as if the Grimm Reaper were poised outside my door patiently waiting for August 12 to roll around so that he could steal my youth and take it with him to the grave. I must have been pretty miserable to my co-workers, because they treated me to a surprise male stripper and then proceeded to hoot and holler while his hips gyrated inches from my face …. I was mortified. The entire ordeal left me feeling nauseous and weak, and ready to crawl underneath the nearest rock and die, but I survived another decade to see forty.

However, by the time I made it to forty I was a decade older and ten years wiser, therefore I’d concocted a plan to beat back the by now predictable birthday blues. Five girlfriends and I rented a luxurious cabin up in the Ozarks at Big Cedar Lodge, and if you haven’t been there it should be added to your list of places to see. Nestled along Table Rock Lake and owned by Bass Pro Shop, no expense or detail was spared when it came to creating an authentic hunting lodge on grounds that boast a ghostly legend. We played on the lake, made our own sangria and sat on our deck laughing and talking for hours at a time. We had massages and facials and lay out by the pool during the day and at night we sang out loud and acted perfectly obnoxious at the Buzzard Bar. I even won a $20 bet from a gentleman who hailed from Chicago when he swore he could guess my age within 5 years, and I replied, “Not by looking at my ass!” I’d had a few shots of tequila by then, but he guessed 34 and I threw down my driver’s license, scooped up his twenty and then threw it in the musician’s tip jar before reveling over my latest victory.

Another ten years pass by and then along came fifty. All my previous best laid plans had given way to the nervous realization that time was passing by way too quickly. I literally stared at myself in the mirror asking out loud, “How did I get this old?” I didn’t look much different than I had at forty, and perhaps in some ways I even looked better, because I’d finally begun taking better care of myself post divorce. Also – almost to the day – AARP started sending me membership cards extolling all the benefits awaiting me as soon as I tendered my $12. I threw them away …. one after another, as I refused to be labeled a senior, and then I picked up one of the complimentary issues of their magazine that arrived in my mailbox one day despite the fact that I hadn’t requested it. I found it was packed full of wonderful articles and really good information about how to put the golden back in your golden years, and suddenly my attitude on aging began to change.

Over six years have passed since that time, and I can honestly say I am more at ease with myself than I have ever been. My children are raised and living independently, I am more confident about how I look and feel, I take really good care of myself and I’ve learned how to value what’s most important in my life, but last of all I truly don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. I have gained a healthy appreciation for the world as a whole and society in general, and I have a greater perspective about life, love and the pursuit of happiness. Moreover, I’ve come to the conclusion that right now is a wonderful time to be my age.

People are not only living longer, they are remaining more and more vital while pursuing new interests well into their eighties and beyond. They are literally jumping out of airplanes, training for marathons and starting whole new career paths. Some are even going back to school to earn that long coveted diploma and managing to teach their younger contemporaries a thing or two in the process. With exercise, improved nutrition and advances in modern medicine, it’s often hard to tell a person’s true age anymore, and if you feel a little depressed about those crow’s feet or love handles that refuse to go away, there’s safe and somewhat affordable procedures available to safely banish those regrets.

I remember when I was growing up fifty-something seemed so old, but as I look around me whether it’s at celebrities or my own close knit group of friends, I think we all look amazing. But most of all I have found love …. mainly because I know how to love without all the games, power struggles and drama that seem to plague most of my earlier relationships. And beyond the mere act of loving someone, I know what other qualities are needed to sustain a couple long after that first wave of breathlessness subsides …. like honesty, loyalty and fidelity coupled with the kind of meaningful communication designed to strengthen and deepen a shared bond over time, and most of all I know how to draw water from the well of my creativity to make certain life never quite becomes boring and predictable.

A funny thing happened to me once I passed fifty. Suddenly younger men started finding me attractive. I attribute that primarily to a new level of confidence that I failed to possess in my younger years. I spent far too much time worried about whether or not people liked me and what they had or hadn’t said about me somewhere along the way. I know now there’s no way I can please everybody, and that’s okay as long as I please those I treasure most. Just don’t call me a cougar, because that label would be inappropriate. Just because the love of my life happens to be younger doesn’t mean I stalked him the way a cougar stalks its hapless prey, and I never have. He chose me, and he is so impressive in his demeanor that I pale a little bit in comparison, but again that’s okay, because we are happy and that’s all that matters.