The Unveiling of the 25-Year Plan: My (Proposed) Path to Owning It at 50

Some of you have heard me talk about it, perhaps what you thought was in jest. But no, I’m serious: My 25th Birthday is really the start of something Big—my 25-year Plan.

Sunday will mark my Quarter-Century year on earth—kind of. Not to be technical, but, as I learned in dreadful Property class last year, your birthday is actually the first day of your next year—in my case, my 26th year. But I’m sure even if you knew that you don’t really care, and, quite frankly, it pretty much messes with conventional modes of expressing birthday cheer (“happy first day of your 26th year” sounds terrible). ANYWAY, another reason this year is significant is that it’s halfway to 50, a year many people—especially women—dread.

We all kind of know why people don’t like it: it begins the “Golden Years,” a euphemistic category for Senior Citizenhood—okay, fine—Old People Status. It says “aging” in a way “the new 20”, age 40, didn’t. It’s more closely associated with weight gain, significantly grayer hair, impending retirement, poor bowel movements, and, also unlike the 40s, universal menopause, to name a few measures of doom. And somehow, those 10% Tuesday discounts at department stores and restaurants are but a small consolation for those who wear the Old Person Badge.

But does 50 really have to be viewed with such morbidity? I, my friends, say no. And, as one of America’s Sweathearts said on her supposed day of doom, on my 50th Birthday (or the start of my 51st year, whichever you prefer), I want to be able to throw my hands up, look to my left, look to my right, flip my vibrant, flowing hair, pause for a moment, then scream at the top of my lungs, “I’M FIFTYYYYYYYYYY!!!!” (I’m referencing Oprah, by the way).

Okay, so maybe I’m getting a little carried away, but the point is, we don’t celebrate aging—age—enough. We think impending death, when we should be thinking delight. If you make it to 50, you will have survived many things—childhood milestones, adolescent adventures, the roaming 20s, the more stable thirties, the fabulous 40s and now—another decade to look forward to, all with a kind of wisdom that can only be gained with many years of life experience. Proverbs 16:2 says, “Gray hair is a crown of splendor, it is attained by a righteous life.” Proverbs 20:29 also says, “The glory of young men is their strength, gray hair the splendor of the old.” There is certainly a correlation between years and understanding that we in our 20s just haven't seen yet.

I guess this stump for old age is more appealing to an older audience, but I sing the praises of those fifty and over to make this point: when we reach that milestone, we have more control over who we are than we would like to admit. A major reason people feel so depressed at 50 is because they’ve done so many things since 25 that they could have done without: cemented poor eating habits from childhood, didn’t plan for the future until it came, abandoned close friendships for frivolous reasons (like the guy or girl who split after a year of “forever”)—just generally chose not to improve the things they couldn’t stand about themselves, and made age the scapegoat. But I do not want to be in that number. Here are a few elements of my avoidance strategy, known as the 25-year plan:

• Eat Healthier
I’m not the biggest junk-food eater, but I can do better. This will be
a gradual one, with more refined goals each year
• Establish a workable exercise routine
• Communicate (e.g. email, phone, facebook) with good friends in far places once a month
• Plan a yearly get-together with the girls from far and wide
• Stay on budget
• Jumpstart my writing/journalism career
• Learn how to do my hair
• Be open to God changing my plans:)

These are, again, just a few of the things I plan to do on my path to celebrating 50, but I think it’s a good start. The key, of course, is continuity; the plan must be a lifestyle.

Granted, it’s impossible to avoid some aspects of aging—increased risk for disease, more difficulty doing everyday things and—most sadly—the death of loved ones we would have lived with for so long. But, much as we often hear even now, the trials we experience do not have to define adversely who we are—at any age.

…so God willing, if I’m alive in 25 years, I won’t be afraid to scream “I’M FIFTYYYYY!!!!” at the top of my lungs. But in the interim—the lonnnggg interim—ask how my 25-year plan is going…