This is 50. In a city like Los Angeles, and society, such as everywhere, I thought turning 50 would plunge me as many a woman today into deep depression and another superfluous $250 wrinkle cream. However, this August, I found myself entering this new decade in embrace, grace, and rather grateful.
Officially turning the big 5-decade on August 26th, I celebrated in a memorable way on the 10th with several family and many special friends from the last decades of life. I must admit it was an exquisite, and yet fun party. Thankfully I reflected much before celebrating perhaps enabling me to process better than a purely laser and ‘filler-driven’ focus that Los Angeles often covets – puns intended.
On July 8th, about one month before the celebration I journaled the following:
…5 decades of thoughts swirl in my mind often when I’m home alone when all is quiet and a silent cat is sleeping on my out-stretched legs.
Am I enough at 50? Have I done enough? Become enough? Have I done enough for the world, society, for my son? For myself ? Or even random strangers? From a thoughtful often impish kid who could often be shy to a loud-mouthed cocky adonis type swimmer ’til 21 when those athletic successes vanished. Then suddenly you’re married, divorced, a single parent for over 13 years, employed, unemployed, employed, just regular life day in and day out, living for my son, basketball practices and auditions, homework, laundry, on and on while attempting to carve out a life for myself only to put it on the back-burner every 6 months out of sheer fatigue. Almost a rinse, repeat and keep praying cycle of life.
Am I enough? Have I done enough?
If I died at 50 years and 4 days, would my life count? Would my son remember all our good times? Would he remember the lessons I’ve tirelessly passed on? Will he tell others and his family about it all? Would I truly matter?…
None of these questions are amazingly profound or superbly existential in themselves. All human beings have asked themselves these questions. Or at least, I’d like to think they do.
Thankfully these questions were answered by the toasts, stories and remembrances at my dinner party one month later. I was touched, moved, happy, humored, and just plain in awe of what people said or remembered. I was ‘filled to gills’ with my celebration of 50 years. The best gift anyone could ask for.
The icing on the cake…when several cited what a fine young man my son Ravi has become. So I am enough at 50? You bet I am.
“Forty is the old age of youth; fifty is the youth of old age.” – Victor Hugo
Fashion Stories & Dirty Laundry 