Navigating A Fork In The Road Called 50

Welcome to the, “I hope that was just a fart” years!

That was the advice given to me by my parents via a greeting card this week in celebration of my 49th birthday.

So now I’m thinking I need to be stockpiling granny panties in anticipation of hitting the big 5-0 next year.

On the one hand, I am completely haunted and terrified at the prospect of being half-a-century old.  Every blank wall I look at has a big fat 5-0 staring right back at me.

Oddly, I’m starting to involuntarily take on behavior associated with “more mature” individuals.

For some unknown reason, this summer I am completely fascinated with the wild life in my backyard.

Nesting birds and baby bunnies have brought out my inner-Beatrix Potter.  Only, I don’t think Beatrix chased the bunnies in her backyard with an iPhone wearing only shape-wear and a dingy grey bath robe screaming, “Come little Peter, where’s my tiny Peter?”

I’ve also taken an interest in politics.  Perhaps the interest may have come sooner if Alex P. Keaton, the politically obsessed teenager in the television show Family Ties, was my idol instead of Madonna in the 80’s.

It’s ironic that your stature may shrink the older you get, yet you have a birds-eye view of the world.

I understand why politically passionate senior citizens write chain-letter type emails in ALL CAPS.  Partly, because they can’t see 12 point typeface anymore but mostly because they’re frustrated.

As a female, I never thought I’d have a receding hairline and lamb chop sideburns.  A bonus for me that there are more male cosmetologists working at make-up counters now.  I always thought they flocked to me because I look like my father.  These days, they’re offering shaving tips with the anti-wrinkle cream samples.


My apron is becoming a wardrobe staple.  It keeps my clothes clean while I cook and serves as a cute cover-up for my menopot.  Are house dresses and a curly short perm next?

As a senior citizen who was schooled in the technology age, at least I have the ability to Outlook myself to schedule a fashion-forward change in my eyeglass frames.

So now, I’m at a fork in the road called 50.  Wedged shoes, pill boxes and early bird specials can be foreseen in one direction while the cover of MORE magazine is visible in the other.

Though, I feel like I’ve been handed a gift – the gift of wisdom.

A gift you can only receive by living many years, learning from your mistakes and having access to Wikipedia.

© 2012 Terri Spilman


23 thoughts on “Navigating A Fork In The Road Called 50

  1. When I turned 40 a couple of years ago, I embraced it. I really enjoyed the new decade, deciding to focusing on myself and stop worrying about what other people would think about my accomplishments if I had other thoughts about my career path. It’s really freed me up. But I do dread turning 50. It just looks like a major milestone (half a century!). I’m sure I’ll warm up to it as I get closer. I will, won’t I?

  2. “I hope that was just a fart”. Too hilarious. It’s all a state of mind girlfriend. I turn 60 in 2 weeks and I’m looking forward to the best days ever. Happy BDay, you whipper snapper!

  3. Love this post, Terri! First off, happy belated birthday! I hope you had a fantastic day and that your family spoiled you rotten, as they should! Second, I’m just a tad older than you, so I’ve already crossed over into the land of the 50s, and I have to say, “menopot” or not I’ll take wisdom over beauty ANY TIME! There is a confidence I have now that I didn’t have in my 20s and 30s that is so liberating, I don’t think I’d go back if I could. Besides, that’s what make-up and shape wear is for. (Funny how we call it “shape wear”, but our moms and grandmothers called it “girdles”. You gotta love semantics.) Anyway, Renee (in the comment right above mine) is right. Age is just a state of mind. My mind is a little twisted at any age, so I think I’m in a pretty good place. 😉

  4. “a receding hairline and lamb chop sideburns.” GAHHHHHH! Thank God I’m not the only one.
    Happy Birthday, Laughing Mom

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