Musings from Mama Bird
So it’s been a little more than a month since I turned the big Five-Oh, and I’ve been busy chasing the healthy life as if it’s my job. It’s definitely my mission at the moment, one that has been consuming much of my free time while I navigate the waters that I’ve waded in before but never seemed to have the drive to dive into, full force, until now (or at least the last four-plus weeks).
Yes, I’ve quit smoking before. Quit drinking beer. Walked with Leslie Sansone and crunched my stomach (abs? hahaha) with Jilian Michaels. I’ve lost some weight, gained some weight, went vegan (for a week), but all for naught until now.
It’s different this time. I’m fifty. Not old, but definitely approaching the tail end of middle age. I no longer have time, I think, to put this off, this quest for more healthy years before I meet my eventual demise. If not now, then when? I think if I don’t follow through this time, it will be too late before I know it.
I don’t think I’m alone in my awakening born from turning fifty. I think we all want to be young again to a certain extent. How many times have we told ourselves, “I may be [insert age here], but I feel [insert younger age here]?
Like the clock in my kitchen, the seconds of my life make it known they are ticking away. Tick…tick. Sometimes, I get discouraged, and I must tell the self that whispers, “You waited too long,” to STFU. And not to be confused with a mid-life crisis, the years of abusing my health have, it seems to me, have become a life crisis. I’m sure Dr. Oz would agree. (So would Leslie and Jillian.)
Last weekend, my son brought his girlfriend to my house for the first time. I was in the kitchen listening to some of the hip-hop songs he introduced me to a few years ago–having children keeps my musical tastes relevant–and she laughed, saying, “You’re playing Gucci Maine!” “Blame it on my son,” I said with a grin.
When you turn fifty, every day is Gucci Time. And these days, that’s all right by me.
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