Tomorrow I turn fifty. And to be honest, I don’t feel like celebrating. I’m not dreading it exactly, but I sure don’t feel like throwing confetti either. It’s this weird mix of gratitude and disbelief — like I blinked and somehow half a century just… happened.
Don’t get me wrong — I’m grateful. Lord knows I am. I’ve lost some people I loved deeply — two of my very best friends — far too soon. Their birthdays stopped coming, their laughter now just echoes in old stories and memories. So I know how lucky I am to still be here. To wake up, breathe, and live another day. That’s a blessing I don’t take lightly.
But even with all that gratitude, I can’t shake this strange feeling. It’s like time snuck up behind me while I was busy raising kids, working, paying bills, and just living. I swear some days I still feel thirty. And then other days I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, or my knees pop when I stand, and I think, “Well… there it is. Fifty.”
It’s not that I’m scared of aging. It’s more like I’m stunned by it. How did I get here so fast? Where did the years go? I remember when fifty sounded old. Now I’m here, and it doesn’t feel old — it just feels… different. Like I’ve crossed into a new chapter that I didn’t realize I was writing.
There’s also this quiet shift that happens as you get older. The things that once felt so important — the hustle, the noise, the constant need to prove yourself — start to fade. You start craving peace more than perfection. You want real conversations, slower mornings, and people who feel like home.
And maybe that’s the silver lining of fifty. You care less about impressing the world and more about actually enjoying the one you’ve built.
Still, I’d be lying if I said it’s all peace and perspective. There’s a part of me that aches for the people I’ve lost — for the years that won’t come back, for the chances I didn’t take, and for the time that slipped away in a toxic relationship.
But even through that ache, I can feel gratitude sitting right beside it. Gratitude that I got to love those people. Gratitude that I still have time to do the things that make my heart happy. Gratitude that I’m still standing, still learning, still growing — even if I don’t always want to blow out the candles and pretend to be thrilled about it.
So no, I’m not throwing a big party. I don’t need balloons or streamers or a fancy dinner. I just need a quiet moment to say thank you — for the lessons, the memories, and the strength that got me here.
Fifty may not be the milestone I’m jumping up and down about, but it’s one I’m learning to respect. Because it means I’ve lived. I’ve loved. I’ve lost. And I’m still here — a little wiser, a little softer, and maybe just starting to understand what really matters.
Lisa Crow contributed to this article. She is a true crime junkie and lifestyle blogger based in Waco, Texas. Lisa is the Head of Content at Gigi’s Ramblings and Southern Bred True Crime Junkie. She spends her free time traveling when she can and making memories with her large family which consists of six children and fifteen grandchildren.