turning 49

​​It’s the eve of my 49th birthday.  What a crazy number to be turning!  Over the past few days I’ve flip flopped from depressed to elated to somewhere in between.  If you were to have asked me a few weeks ago, I’d shrug my shoulders and say it’s just a number without much relevance.  
​
As the clock ticks toward midnight, 49 feels significant in ways I hadn’t expected.  I’d be lying if I said my body feels as it did half my age ago.  I’m beginning to understand my patient's caution that aging ain’t for sissies.  My joints stiffen up when I sit too long.  My hips and ankles make me seriously question whether running is ever in the cards for me again.  I can walk and hike til the cows come home but running makes me remember the residual impact of my long ago gymnastic days. While these sensations vie for some of my attention, I am simultaneously aware of a new fire and vitality churning in me...to identify and do the things that matter most.  I feel a call to slow down and simplify along with an urgency to get busy doing what I’m here to do.  At this juncture in human development I’ve seen people shrivel up, give up and slip into oblivion.  I’ve witnessed others grab life by the horns and take off.  I certainly identify way more with the latter.  I can't imagine for a second wasting a precious moment of this life I've been gifted with.

Aside from my premature entrance into the world, I was a late bloomer developmentally.  In some ways it’s been hard to shake that...making me feel like I had to ask permission to be present at the big kid’s table.  There is something about ‘almost fifty’ that takes that need to ask away.  I know what life experiences I’ve come through and nobody can take that from me.  I know time is of the essence so waiting til it’s my turn to speak up is no longer an option.  I’ve got stuff to say and shit to do...and 49 feels like a warm fire under my ass.  Get the picture?!