As a kid, I absolutely loved celebrating my birthday. I remember parties at McDonalds, Chuck E. Cheese, Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor, and roller-skating with my friends at the park. Yep, I’m definitely dating myself here as a child of the late 70’s / early 80’s… As an adult, the shine of my birthday started to wear off a bit (except for having cake, of course), and my celebrations were reduced to lunch or dinner with family, friends, or my significant other. I will admit there was one very memorable trip to Vegas with some inanely fun co-workers for my 40^th, but other than that, my birthdays as an adult have been fairly uneventful.

Two weeks ago, I turned 50. The big 5-0… As much as birthdays aren’t a big thing in my life anymore, I feel like 50 is a significant milestone, so my intention was to throw myself a big party. Being the manager of a winery, I had a free venue for the festivities, so it was just a matter of seeing which of my friends and family were up for traveling to the Texas panhandle for the weekend. I even had the perfect dress picked out. But then the opportunity for this unexpected move to Europe came up before my birthday, and the party idea was tanked.

Selfishly, I felt a little disappointed. I had already been cheated out of my wedding reception and honeymoon due to Covid, and, once again, a fancy dress went back into the closet (or in this case, packed up into a box to be stored for the next two years). But, despite my disappointment, the Universe gave me an incredible gift. Not only was I getting to spend my 50^th birthday starting a new life adventure in Europe, but The Husband took me to Austria for the weekend, and I got to do a haunted tour of historic old town Vienna. How could I possibly be disappointed in that?

But back to the concept of being 50… I didn’t think it would be such a mindfuck for me to turn 50, as I was clearly more interested in celebrating this milestone rather than worrying about it. But now that it’s over and the reality of being 50 is settling in, I can’t seem to wrap my brain around it. Several times now, I’ve stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection and thinking, “Holy shit girl, you’re 50 fucking years old.” Even though I want to be in denial, when I look closely enough, all the telltale signs are there. The wrinkles around my eyes. The grey hairs starting to show. The definition starting to fade on my triceps no matter how many pushups I do. I mean, isn’t this the age where people say you’re “over the hill?” Does this mean I should stop shopping in the Juniors section at Ross and Marshalls?

My cousin, who’s a few years older than I am, sent me a happy birthday text, and during the conversation I mentioned that it was kind of surreal to be half a century old. She responded, “Welcome to the club!! I have loved my 50’s so far!! Lots of giving zero FUCKS!!” I guess she has a point there. I do love giving zero fucks. My cousin was in a shitty marriage for two decades that she’s finally free from, she has a great career now, and she’s dating the man of her dreams, so stepping into her 50’s was like a breath of fresh air and a new lease on life. And I suppose I should have that same level of excitement about my own life right now.

If you read my last blog article, I talked about how I’m currently in the very bizarre and unique (at least for me) position of not having a full-time job (or really any job for that matter) for the first time in my adult life, so shouldn’t I be in the mindset of endless possibilities and opportunities in creating my dream life? Shouldn’t I be fucking elated? I finally have the time to fully commit to all the classes and courses I’ve signed up for over the past year and have been half-assing while trying to cram them into a busy schedule. I have time to start writing the book I keep putting off. I have time to focus on creating the business plan I’m constantly tossing around in my mind. I have time to get in solid workouts pretty much every day. So why am I in this borderline depressed state, sitting in a hotel room for the past 3 weeks, watching weird music videos on German MTV, and steadily gaining weight from eating too many crepes every morning and drinking a minimum of 2 glasses of wine every night instead of getting my shit together and moving forward on my dreams?

OMG, am I having a fucking midlife crisis?

When I look back at the opportunities I’ve had and the things I’ve accomplished in my life, I’m not bragging, but I can honestly say I’ve done some pretty cool shit. Or at least what I think is cool shit. I’ve been part of a top alcohol drag racing pit crew in the NHRA. I’ve escorted famous movie stars down the Red Carpet at Hollywood film premieres. I’ve been the first female to be accepted into the boys club at a municipal fire department. I’ve fought wildfires and trained people how to enter burning buildings. I’ve ridden a horse in the world-famous Rose Parade and represented my department on horseback at National Police Week in Washington D.C. I’ve had the privilege of saving multiple lives and teaching others how to do the same. I’ve investigated crazy homicides and given presentations to a room full of high-ranking law enforcement and city government officials. I’ve traveled throughout the world and experienced other countries and cultures. I’ve co-created a podcast where I get to speak out and share my views on freedom every week. The list goes on and on.

So why the fuck am I feeling so down on myself about turning 50? When I sit with this question, I realize it has more to do with my lack of accomplishments over the past 2 years than it does with my actual age. I have no regrets in leaving my law enforcement career and moving to Texas to start a new life, because my life improved exponentially in so many ways, especially in terms of my self-awareness and mental health. But I have these constant nagging feelings of disappointment and frustration that I should be so much further ahead of where I am in my life right now and turning 50 has somehow thrown a spotlight of panic on those feelings.

The questions fill my head like rapid fire. Were the years behind me the best it’s going to get in terms of my career path? Were those career highlights the end of the line and now nothing else will make me feel worthy or accomplished? Am I too old to start over and believe I can have an equally fulfilling career this late in life? Are my goals delusional? Am I destined to be like a middle-aged guy working a mundane job who believes nothing in life will ever be as good as the old days when he was the high school quarterback and prom king? Am I just in a state of self-pity because I’ve spent the past 3 weeks cooped up in a hotel room in a foreign country where the language barrier is more difficult than I thought it would be, things aren’t going the way I expected at all, the situation is out of my control, and I’m going fucking stir crazy? Or is this just a culmination of guilt and shame because I’ve been too fucking scared to fully commit to following my dreams for the past two years, and now I’m blaming it on my age?

Really, the answers to these questions are irrelevant. I’ve taken enough self-development and mindset courses to know what I need to do. It’s just a matter of getting out of my own head and regaining focus. Taking responsibility for my thoughts and actions. Not allowing myself to make lame excuses about being too old to live my dreams. Not giving any fucks about people judging me for my goals or being afraid of failure. Getting back into daily habits of discipline. Living up to my own expectations because I know I can – I’ve done it many times before, and I will do it again. It’s about trusting myself, believing that I’m worthy of the life I say I want for myself, and putting in the work to get there.

Yeah it’s really that simple. It’s just fucking hard sometimes to be honest with myself.

Well, this article certainly took a completely different turn from where I thought it would go when I started writing it. I intended this to be kind of a light and funny take on turning 50, but here we are… I contemplated scratching this blog post altogether, but I know I’m not the only one who’s struggling with dissatisfaction in life right now. Maybe this will resonate with some of my readers and inspire you to ditch your own excuses (age or otherwise) about stepping out of your comfort zone or pursuing your own dreams and goals.

I’ve also decided to use this article as a means of holding myself accountable in being authentic and moving forward with my plans. What better way to stick to my goals than to make a public commitment? So, pinky swear it is. Until next time…

Unapologetically Outspoken,

Tara