Almost-Fifty

Last summer I turned forty-nine years old. I thought I would take this year and just say almost-fifty instead of forty-nine whenever I mentioned or was asked about my age. For almost-fifty, in my mind, denotes fearlessness (the ability to say the f-word), a reckless indifference to age (what’s one year plus or minus), and, most importantly, almost-fifty represents a generous gift of time for me to get accustomed to the up-and-coming milestone. What I dearly wish for, standing here on the cusp of a new decade, is the time to dance slowly, tenderly, wisely, buoyantly, with the changes. Something, I haven’t managed to do before in my adult life.

When I was 19 years old, I went through a long and agonising crisis, which resulted in my quitting my ballet career. Eventually, I went off to study electrical engineering and then moved to Germany, but I didn’t have this Plan B in my back pocket at the time.

At 29, I went through what I like to refer to as a premature midlife crisis (PMC). No lover (let alone a partner), no children, no career perspectives (try being a female foreign engineer in a large very conservative German corporation)… life was more than grey. It was as bleak as bleak could be. To acerbate the situation even more, I decided to quit my job. Plan B: I went off sailing for a year.

Fast-forward another ten-years to my 39th year. Once again, I plunged headfirst into another crisis. You notice a pattern here? This was mainly brought on by chronic sleep deficiency (Nature Girl, at that time one-years old, didn’t sleep through one night the first three years of her life) and a growing dissatisfaction with my profession. Yes, you guessed, I left the engineering profession behind and started out on a new venture.
So, even though I’ve always been a slow learner, this time around I’m well warned. Almost-fifty I am and I can’t even tell you what Plan A is because I’m already working on Plan B.

Note: this entry was made available through Nature Girl, who cooked dinner tonight while I wrote.