Before I am 50

Staring the passage of time chaotically in the eye

I a few weeks I will be 50 and I don’t know how that makes me feel, precisely.

I veer from astonished denial to low key lucky, to incredibly grateful, to societally programmed shame for no specific reason. How lucky to be ashamed. Ashamed have the audacity to feel conflicted about the passage of time. Privileged enough to be able to ruminate on it at all.

My mind flits from all the things I didn’t do and all the things I still might. All the youth I wasted and all the advice I never listened still ringing in my ears. It turns out I did listen. I just chose to ignore a lot. Especially, if hit a nerve. That would be shut down stubbornly. I now understand myself well enough to know that I would ignore it all again, so I am not going to write about what I would have told a younger me. She’d roll her eyes and call me a loser.

So strap in (behind the paywall on account of sheer vulnerability) as I try to articulate the milestone ahead.