This is 50
This is me.
This is 50.
This is unbridled enthusiasm running headlong into discomfort and doubt.
This is bravado, bravery, and boldness questioning all the things at all the times.
This is fierceness and femininity wrapped in a moxie-driven, awkwardly uncoordinated, lemon of a body.
This is a best-selling author and in-demand speaker who is frustratingly searching for her elusive next words, a ride-or-die friend who is too introverted to answer the phone, a devoted mother whose children are nine toes out the door.
This is a three-time marathoner who didn’t run her first mile until she was 39, a 225lb deadlifter who hadn’t picked up a weight until she was 43, a masters competitive rower who didn’t know the sport existed until she was 46.
This is a raging idealist who parcels out her fucks knowing that any one might be her very last, a prissy prig about manners who curses a blue streak, an extraordinary yarn weaver who leads a pretty humdrum daily life.
This is comfort in the certainty that we can hold multiple ideas in our minds at once just as well as we can hold multiple identities in our hearts. This is wisdom in the track record that we are never too old and it’s never too late. This is proof in the making that there are multitudes within each and every one of us, as long as we are willing to keep peeling back, searching for more out there, and within ourselves.
This is the liminal space — literally the middle of the middle — in between where I’ve started and where I now realize I’m capable of going.
This is fire. This is heart. This is rage. This is peace.
This is 50.
This is me.
This is 50
