I recently had a holy shit moment. A punch to the gut. A wake up call. A proverbial kick in the pants.
I had another birthday. But I’m good with that. I love my birthday. Always have, probably always will. Despite the number on the cake continuing to climb, I’m always excited to celebrate. Pre-kids, I celebrated the entire month. Several kids later, I try to celebrate for at least a weekend. Regardless, it’s always my day.
This year was no different. It was my day all day. I turned 43. I had a wonderful day with my family and not much could have made it better.
BUT. Thanks to someone who obviously lacks proper social etiquette; this year hit a little differently.
Not long before my birthday I heard this person say two words that I’ve heard a million times. But this time, and for the first time; the words were referencing me. Even worse, my age. I have never been so offended. I quickly came back with a smart ass comment, of course, but the statement wasn’t lost on me. And he wasn’t wrong.
(If you are over the age of 40…your feelings are about to be hurt. But keep reading, anyway. Shit gets better, I promise.)
So, the two word phrase that nearly brought me to my knees?
Until now, in my head; middle aged meant 50. I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s half of 100 and everyone is supposed to live to be 100? It’s obviously an irrational explanation for “middle aged” but when was I supposed to think about the literal meaning? Not until being called such a terrible thing, apparently.
And since I over-think everything, this was no exception. And it got dark. Fast.
I’ve broken it down. It basically means that I’m mid-way through my total number of years. Like, my life is half over. Statistically, I have lived half of my years on this Earth. Maybe more. Nobody knows.
So, yeah…holy shit, right?
Of course it’s an estimate. I have no idea what the actual life expectancy is in 2022 but it doesn’t matter now. Even if I had the balls to Google it, knowing the exact number wouldn’t help. It would just force me to lay in bed figuring out exactly what day will be my halfway point. No thank you.
The bottom line here is that give or take a couple of years; I’m half way to dead. And there isn’t much I can do to change that.
I can make it sound a little better. Present it a little differently. Dress it up a bit. Soften the blow. Tie a bow on it. I’m good at that…
For those of us between 40 and 50 years of age, we will now say that our lives are simply half full.
As in…the best is yet to come.
As in…we still have time.
As in…dessert comes next.
It’s the perfect spin on getting old, right? It sounds better, less daunting and easier to digest. Getting old is not easy but everything tastes better with dessert. Amiright?
And maybe there is some truth behind it? Maybe I didn’t just slap a bow on it. People swear that things get better with age, right?
Or is that just wine?
Either way. Save some room. I might save a little extra.
Because filling up this second half of my life is going to be everything…