What turning 50 taught me about aging, identity, and purpose - opinion

True, “D-Day” wasn’t until July. But that fine near-spring day was the moment my life changed. Or at least it felt that way. It set me on a spiraling path I hadn’t experienced in 20+ years.

It’s not that I was new to near-professional-level navel-gazing. I’ve been doing it obsessively since at least my teen years. It’s that it was accompanied by something new.

I was no longer going to be pretty or charming in the traditional sense. Which, to me, had always read useful. Now no one’s going to hire me based on vibe or potential. I am, more or less, who I am. No one is going to discover, mentor, or push me – except me.

But who was this “new” me?

I had been so content for so many years. I have a nice husband. Lovely kids. A comfortable and professional freelance writing career that lets me do what I love, almost on the level of a hobby, and in sweats or shorts, depending on the season, no less.

With those threats looming, I felt like some craggly character in a novel displaced during the Industrial Revolution, from the car assembly line, or by the age of computers.

Yet the worry is real. No one wants to have to reskill at 50. Certainly not someone enjoying a sweet ride, easily cruising at the top of her game.

It is a strange, modern vertigo: feeling like a young and enthusiastic brilliant beauty, caught in an old person’s body, staring at a computer screen that might be smarter than me. Claude, is that you? But seriously...

Perhaps you, like me, showed up in Israel young and perky in your 20s, and can’t believe that youthful era has passed. Nor can I! You’re not the plucky new arrival anymore, but you’re still not a Sabra. And who cares anymore because whose face is that in the mirror, anyhow?

Or the recognition that no, you, like me, are never going to be that swamp-draining person we romanticized when reading the Exodus novel in our youth. Because realistically, we came here long after the pioneers realized that it was a mistake after all.

And besides, real life turned out to happen in an office, often under fluorescent lighting, even for the heartiest of us. There’s a reckoning between who you are and who you thought you’d become. And it pinches my heart, too.

Or maybe you’re still in America or another Diaspora community and contemplating middle age, which is fair enough. It’s a pretty universal occurrence. And you’re always still welcome to join us, of course.

Whichever your perspective, the question is the same. What do you do with it?

Well, I’ve only turned 50 once. But so far, from my lived experience, I can only detail what’s been working for me.

Reframe the crisis as a transition. You may be dipping a toe into old territory, but you certainly aren’t there yet. True, there are both physical and emotional minefields to cross, but with thought and acceptance, you can do so gracefully.

First up, reflect rather than react. Do not jump into irreversible decisions, you may live to regret. You may want a tattoo. And that’s fine. But, God willing, remember to at least get something meaningful, as you likely have many more years left in you. And a mirror, if not critical kids who will laugh at an ill-advised Mickey Mouse image on an increasingly sagging thigh.

Exercise. I used to spin, then run. Grueling hour-long workouts. Often five days a week. Now I do Pilates and Tabata training. Half an hour at a time. And leisurely walks with friends. It’s okay to listen to your body and act on what it wants. But the act is the imperative. You must keep using it. For agility and spirit. I promise you.

Repair and reconnect with relationships. The former is advice I’ve heard and have yet to implement, if I’m going to be fully up front. The latter, though, is something that has definitely given me great meaning. Especially with childhood friends and the ones I met in my early Katamon days.

And finally, find meaning outside of work and family. Yep, those dreaded words “hobbies” and “volunteer.” I personally signed up for a philosophy course and feel like my younger self, seated front and center, thoroughly tuned in.

And the volunteer work I do with youth at risk, an area I’d never considered until the opportunity literally fell into my lap, has become the highlight of my week. The girls even like me, which is an added bonus and the ego boost middle-aged me needs.

So, yes, this can be a confusing and lonely time. Maybe you feel like you’re going crazy. Maybe you think everyone else is doing this more gracefully. You’re not. They’re not. I’m not. And I’m glad for your company.

Midlife isn’t the end of who you are – it’s a chance to become who you were always meant to be. In whatever form that takes. An extension of your old self, or something entirely new. Both are great. That’s the real beauty.

Moral of the story? If you wake up one day feeling or actually being middle-aged, whether you’re 30 or 60 or anywhere in between, remember, it’s really just another day. And it can always be as good as, or better than, the rest.