This is 49

49 is on the downward slope of middle age. It's nearing the end of midlife.
It is realization that 50 is right around the corner, as are 60, and 70, and 80. It's not retirement yet. But retirement is near and wanted and unwanted.

It is acknowledging that the pounds don't shed as easily, that I might need to buy bigger pants, and that the heat I am feeling is not because someone turned up the thermostat.

It is also acknowledging that I am crazy and flawed and sane and human.

49 is grey hairs that won't be covered with hair dye and no matter how many times I pluck them out they will come back. And they will have friends. It is learning to be OK with crepey skin, crows feet, and age spots on my face. It is learning to feel beautiful anyway.

49 is 25 years of marriage. Living year after year with someone who makes me laugh, cry, angrier than my deepest anger and happier than my lightest happiness.
It is date night after date night because I don't know how to cook for 2, nor do I want to. It's being scared to death that I might lose him, to cancer or a heart attack, but knowing if I did, I'd be OK. Eventually.

49 is realizing that my life is more than wrestling matches and praise band concerts. It is the end of sports and youth group and school activities. It is also the end of being included in the conversations of those still there. It is wanting to take control but having to let go, even if the choices aren't what I would make and accepting that they are no longer mine to make.

49 is waiting for grand-babies and loving great-nephews but knowing that when the grand-babies arrive that the great-nephews will take their places as second-string just because that's what happens when great aunts and great uncles have grand-babies of their own.

49 is learning to find me again, my interests that were set aside, my passions that were forgotten, and the truth about the woman I want to be, even if she has tattoos and rides a motorcycle.

49 is peace, anxiety, busyness, quietness, stress, and waiting.  It's finding a new sexy and a new beautiful within the old me. It's finding my voice while keeping my opinions to myself. It's old friends and new friends and alone-time with a book or a skein of yarn. It's nothing at all like I thought it would be.

49 is pretty damn good.


*This piece was inspired by a column titled This is 38. This is Midlife
by Lindsey Mead

Or Maybe I Haven't

When I was writing my January column, I was lamenting about running out of things to write about in my new life as the mother of adult children. I could no longer write about driving lessons, wrestling tournament bleacher-butt, or youth group camping trips. Turns out I have plenty to write about. All I needed to do was (literally) wait a day. I had been enjoying my first day of Christmas break by lounging in my PJ’s, playing with my phone. I came up with the brilliant idea to change my passcode. The passcode I’ve had since I got the phone. The one that I have no trouble remembering. I thought I should change it to something “easier.” So I did. About 5 minutes later, (I’m not kidding. It was only like, 5 minutes) I typed in my new-and-improved passcode. 123969. Wrong. What? Oh, it must be 123966. Nope. 123963? “You are locked out of your phone. Pease try again in 1 minute.” I got a little bit nervous and I wondered what could have gone wrong. I decided that I probably didn’t change it after all. I must have just thought that the easier number wouldn’t be so easy after all so I’m sure I changed it back. When the minute was over I tried the original passcode. “You are locked out of your phone. Please try again in 5 minutes.” Crap! What the heck did I do? This went on a couple more times:

            “You are locked out of your phone. Please try again in 30 minutes.”

            “You are locked out of your phone. Please try again in 1 hour.”

By this time I was in total freak-out mode. I was thinking that I was going to have to get a new phone, but I just got this one! So I did what any resourceful human being would do. I Googled “What do I do if I forgot my passcode?” This gave me a few different blogs containing a list of steps I could take, which I knew would totally confuse me and probably make the problem worse. Since I had to go into town anyway I put my now completely disabled phone in my purse, messaged my family through my laptop, and headed to the AT&T store in Charlevoix. There I was met by an angel from Heaven who said that she thought she could get my phone working. The funny thing is that I actually prayed, “Please God make this work.” But then I felt guilty clogging up the prayer lines with a shallow request like restoring my phone when there are much more serious prayer requests floating up there. So I stood there thinking to myself “Please work! Please work! Please work!” and then, you know, in case God had a break from more serious prayer requests… Finally, the customer service representative got my phone all restored, complete with my pictures and contacts. “It’s a Christmas Miracle!” I shouted. I thanked her and hugged her and went on my way. So really, I don’t know what I was worried about. I have plenty of material. I just need to give it a day.

I Might Finally be Running out of Ideas

The Christmas season has always been a busy time, and this year is no different. Since my birthday falls within this time I always have a little bit of extra reflecting to do. One thing that has been on my mind this year is this column. I began writing it in early 2010. When I took the position of monthly columnist for the PNR I was asked to name my column. I immediately thought of “The Flip Side” because it’s an old term that we said in the 80’s: “Catch ya on the flip side!” and for those who don’t understand why we said that, it refers to records, namely 45’s (single song records) that always had a less known, less popular song on the back, or flip side. Because I was just entering middle age I thought this was appropriate because I was entering the “flip side” of my life (I didn’t want any “over the hill” references of course).  This year marked my 49^th birthday and as I barrel head-long into my 50^th year, I began wondering if I need to change the “Life After 40” part of the title. I’m still over 40 but it seems as though the column is changing now that I’m entering “life after 50.” My life in my 40’s was full of topics I could write about with ease such as my teenage kids and stories about the endless laundry and the daily gallons of milk they consumed. But as my kids get older and the grandkids haven’t begun arriving, I find myself working harder and harder to come up with ideas for my column. Almost monthly I think to myself “I think this is it. One more and I’m done. My life is too boring to write about now that I’m pushing 50,” and then I run into a total stranger who smiles and says “Do you write for the paper? I love your column!” You have no idea how much those little comments motivate and encourage me. Even after the dog stroller debacle, I had supporters coming out of the woodwork, encouraging me to keep writing. I often wonder how much longer I can keep coming up with new material, but each month I manage because of the kind words (and chapstick!) from my readers. Even the columns that I think are the absolute worst are the ones in which I have people coming up to me saying “I loved your column about…It was hilarious!” As we enter the New Year, I hope I can continue to come up with pieces that entertain, connect to your life somehow, or warm your heart. So as long as you keep reading, I’ll keep writing. Happy New Year and I’ll catch you on the flip side!