At twenty I was told I was an adult. At thirty I felt like I was finally an adult. A decade later, forty was the new thirty, and I realized I still had not attained adulthood. What is this all about? Let’s all be who we are, when we are. What else is there?
At fifty, I am fifty. No comparisons, just living.
Manifesto for TheNewFifty (an evolving document)
I am me, regardless of age. I am still immature, I still have emotional outbursts, I can be alternately silly and serious.
I will not dress like an adult. Sneakers forever! Nor will I cut my hair in a conservative style, something befitting my age. (#dontfearthefauxhawk)
The past does not rule me, but I will not forget it. If I feel the need to rock out to the metal music from my youth, or to Michael Jackson, or to disco; or from the more recent past, the Fugees or Thievery Corporation, I will…or…
I’ll allow the mellower sound of the cello, from the likes of Kronos Quartet or Zoe Keating, to inspire me.
I will continue to learn. Wait, scratch that. I will start to learn. I have been too stubborn for too long, thinking I knew it all. I acknowledge that I know very little, and I will be open to that concept.
I will undertake creative endeavors, because it is never too late.
I will not succumb to the drudgery of going through the motions.
I will not ‘settle’ for anything. I will live an inspired life.
I will haul my ancient body through a half-marathon in less than two hours, I will hike for miles with my loving dog, I will do push-ups and pull-ups as long as the muscles will allow.
I will not deny my age, nor will I succumb to it.
I will have gratitude for each moment. Well, each day anyway; I cannot be held accountable for each and every moment.
This is me. I am TheNewFifty.