Dear D.:
Your 50th is coming up this month. Rather than send you a bunch of black balloons and one of those dumb cards with a joke about adult diapers, I'm writing you a letter with some advice. I offer it with a full heart and the seasoned experience of someone who's all of three years older than you are.
There’s no denying that 50 is a landmark birthday. A turning point. The Big One. Over the next few weeks, you'll be paying more attention to the mirror in your bathroom. Reading your face like a road map, you'll scrutinize your eyelids and check the skin around your cheekbones. You might notice, for the first time, a couple of age spots that can’t quite pass as freckles. You'll wonder if your jaw line isn’t as sharp as it used to be.
As soon as I turned 50, I noticed for the first time that even my hands were starting to look like a topographical survey. Today, the pale blue veins over my knuckles are more prominent now, and the skin is etched with fine lines and small valleys. But I’m really OK with all of this -- and you will be, too.
Just before my 50th birthday, I remembered the lyrics from “Miles from Nowhere,” an old Cat Stevens song I loved when I was in high school:
Lord, my body, it’s been a good friend,
But I won’t need it when I reach the end.
After all these years, my body has been a very good friend. It endured years of ballet and highland dancing classes. Its knees were skinned and bruised countless times. Its tonsils were removed; it was hit by a car; it gave birth to one spectacular child. It survived a couple of blood transfusions and two complete hip replacements. And despite the injuries, it managed to travel all over the United States and parts of Europe. I marvel at how my body still works, and I’m forever grateful that it does. (This is why I get so damned mad at the fashion magazine editors and advertisers who keep telling me there's something wrong with my body -- just because it isn't 30-something anymore.)
Age spots aside, what you'll notice most after turning 50 is that you become more philosophical, less hurried. You'll care care more about things that matter in the long run – deep relationships; good health. You'll get wise to the advertising and marketing tricksters, and you won't be as influenced by the trendy or the superficial. You might watch a lot less television and read whatever intrigues you, not just the books Oprah endorses, or the ones that make the best-seller lists. Hopefully, too, you'll start wearing clothes that work for you -- not necessarily what’s promoted in fashion magazines. Best of all, you'll stop seeking so much approval from others. You'll finally trust your own opinions.
In years to come, you might start thinking about making a real difference in your community, your world. But oddly enough, awards, accolades, and celebrity won't interest or impress you quite as much anymore. Before taking on any new assignments or volunteer work, you'll find yourself pausing to examine your real motivations. At least that's what happened to me after I turned 50. I found I wanted to give from the heart, not the ego. To borrow from Thoreau, I wanted to live deliberately.
For me, living deliberately has come to mean spending more time with the people I love most, and more time on the projects I love best. Since there are never enough hours in a day, this means I have to be careful before I say "yes" to anyone or anything else. One of the gifts of middle age is that we finally realize we cannot be all things to everyone -- and what a relief that is!
Once you've crossed the threshold between 49 and 50, you'll have to look beyond the media for authentic, mature role models. American film directors and fashion magazine editors rarely celebrate the strength, power, and beauty of older women. And the few fashion magazines that do cater to our age group still insist on using models that look closer to 35 than 55. Regardless, resist the foolish temptation to dress like your daughter or your son's girlfriends. We must show younger women what 50 really looks like -- and prove that maturity isn't something to be ashamed of.
It helps to have older friends as you age. Older women friends will help you navigate the thornier parts of middle age, including the empty nest and suspicious mammograms. Like senior discounts and a good eye cream, they are definitely worth seeking out. When you find them, cherish them, and listen to what they have to say. Another friend who turned 50 a few years before I did has held up a light for me every step of the way, insisting that the fifties can be wild and juicy years if you get your priorities straight. I love her attitude. “I quit being a doormat and I don’t try to please everyone,” she once told me. “I know who I am now.”
Isn’t it a shame that we have to travel through five decades to figure this out? So the thing is, you must celebrate this birthday for all the good things it represents, for being a signpost to the richly textured life ahead of you. You are a wise woman and a beautiful friend, and I'm here with you on this incredible midlife journey.
Love and Happy Birthday to you,
Cindy
©copyright 2008; by Cindy La Ferle
Cindy La Ferle is a nationally published journalist and author of Writing Home, a collection of essays on motherhood, reinventing family traditions, and aging with grace. Parts of this essay appeared in slightly different form in Writing Home. Visit Cindy La Ferle's Web site and blog, Cindy's Home Office, at
www.laferle.com
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Guest Column
A LETTER TO A FRIEND TURNING 50*