A 50-Year-Old Looks At 50

One thing I can say definitively about turning 50, as I will on Friday, is that this column won’t be as good as it might have been 10 or 12 years ago, because half my brain seems to have seeped out of my ears in those intervening years (though, on the good news side, I’ve undoubtedly forgotten the details of the departure).

But what I’ve lost in brainpower will, hopefully, be made up for in good, old-fashioned hard work, as, like anyone who receives imploring mail from AARP, I’m up writing this at 6 in the morning, having not been up to the task on my customary Sunday night.

I never came close to picturing myself at 50 when I was young; the closest I ever came was a recurring image of sitting alone in a small Manhattan apartment in what seemed like my late 20s, watching TV after work.

I clearly remember, though, my dad leaving for his 30th high school reunion and wondering if it was depressing to go to an event in which half the anticipated guests are already dead.

Now, I’m somehow 16 months past my own 30th reunion and am happy to report that not only was half the class not dead but, in many cases, incomplete conversations seemed to pick up just where they left off, despite the fact that the Berlin Wall was still intact the last time I saw them.

I had a head of steam about my 50th birthday party at one point, many months ago. It was going to be a true Bacchanalia with all sorts of beers and competitions, darts and table shuffleboard, and even a quarters table.

It’s now four days away as I write this, and I haven’t even gotten around to inviting anyone, let alone consulting with Caligula about how to bring it off.

With each passing day, a quiet night with family and a few close friends is seeming just about right.

My stepgrandfather, an Air Force veteran, used to always say that “old age ain’t for sissies.” I like that. It casts it as a tough challenge to be overcome by fortitude as opposed to a decline.

Someone else said this to me just the other day, upon hearing about the upcoming milestone: “Halfway there!”

I like that, too.

I no longer worry about not knowing what anything is anymore, don’t let it bother me when 8-year-olds roll on the ground laughing when I don’t know if my phone is an I-something or an Android or something other than the black rectangle by which I tend to grumpily identify it when persecuted.

I don’t know if I’m alone in this, as I’ve never heard anyone express it, but I’m genuinely looking forward to reaching 50, for a bunch of reasons, not the least of which is that, 12 months ago, making it looked like a dicey proposition.

But mainly because I’ve never understood why someone would be a certain age and pretend they’re younger. You look exactly the same, which everyone can see, so why would you want anyone to think you’re 45 if you look 60? I’d much rather be 60 and have people think you look 45.

And, like many, I fight the advancing years by trying to keep in better and better shape, which usually leads to exercises designed for people decades younger and therefore walking around feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck a good deal of the time.

That’s the toughest thing of all: having to own up to not being able to do things you used to be able to do when you still, in so many ways, feel like the same person.

David Letterman was always very conscious of the milestone and what it meant. I remember stories of him, even a year or two before hitting 50, answering most questions put to him with an exasperated, “What the hell do I know? I’m a 50-year-old man!”

Now he’s 72, looks like Santa Claus, and seems to be in a much more contented place now than he was then, which is encouraging.

I remember looking down on my friend Tom’s head in a large class in a theater at Tulane and rather insensitively pointing out that he was already going gray and losing a bit on the top.

“Body of a 50-year-old man!” he said rather proudly, looking up at me over his shoulder. And why not? The reality was inconceivably distant at the time.

You do wonder how people who haven’t even started showing signs of aging or are still growing look at you, since you tend to look at things in relation to your friends and loved ones who are aging along with you, and so pretty much look the same to you as they always did.

But there’s plenty of good about this. When you get old, you’re in a far better position to deal with hardship, pain and loss, because you’ve been through it and are able to assign it to its proper place, which is never as bad as it may have seemed had it happened many years before.

And, anyway, you’re still around to feel it, which is something in itself.

It’s the beginning of the decade in which I’ll be able to leave behind suits and commutes and meetings and head, hopefully, toward more creative pursuits. At least that’s the plan.

I suspect I’m not alone in becoming far more conflict-averse with each passing year, which is nice. I like to think this is almost the same thing as being peaceful, or at least a close cousin.

Another good thing is that we’re likely in the same boat if you’re reading this. It’s possible, even, that your boat has taken on a few more leaks.

If so, as I’m starting to realize, that just offers a few more opportunities for growth and understanding.