I recently passed my 53rd birthday. I’ve thus spent three years in my fifth decade and I’ve noticed in these last few years some changes have entered my life. Things aren’t what they used to be. Some of the changes I saw coming as they had begun in some stage in my 40’s; others I’ve seen more recently. Anyway, being 50 isn’t what I’d thought or hoped it would be, but it has been interesting.

The first major difference my 50’s brought into my life is a change in the way I get up in the morning. Gone are the days of the alarm going off and hopping out of bed. Oh no. Try that now and the floor is my final destination. No, it takes a bit of warming up and a roll call to get up these days. I have to inventory everyone involved in the getting up process. Feet? Y’all ready down there? How about you, Legs; any issues this morning? I now y’all was shooting some random pains a time or two last night. Think y’all can deal with getting up today? Cerebellum, you taking care of balance alright today? I don’t need you taking the day off and me eating this wall face first before hitting the floor.

If everyone checks in, then I can continue with the getting up process. Just because my feet touch the ground, however, does not mean I can go ahead and stand. This is around a three step deal these days. I have to stretch down to my toes with my arms to loosed up everything that is going to be holding me up. Otherwise, I’ll get up stiff and for some reason, that stiffness is bound to last all day. Once that light stretch is over, I can get on up, which is complicated somewhat by two of my cats swirling around my legs reminding me it’s time for food.

Besides getting up, another big change is in the way I act in a crowd. In my younger years, I wanted to be the center of attention. I tried to be the life of every party. I was the loudest; I drank the most; I generally was the chief hell-raiser of the bunch. I started getting away from some of that when I quit drinking when I was 25, but I was still an attention whore. These days though, I look for the dog or cat and I find a seat in the corner of the couch and try to get said animal to get near enough to pet or preferably in my lap, and that’s where I’ll stay for the length of the soiree or until Budge comes and gets me and tells me it’s time to go home.

The going home part in a whole other story. My bedtime is around 9:30 to 10:00 PM. I remember, vaguely, I’m afraid, not going OUT until 10:00 PM. The only place I’m headed after 10:00 PM today would be to the hospital, and it better be something serious; otherwise, it can jolly well wait until the morning. Sometimes Budge will get to reading a book and be really into it and 10:00 turns into 11:00, or God forbid, midnight. I’ll stay up long as I can and keep myself occupied, but at some point, I’m probably going to find myself on the couch under a blanket waiting for her to wake me up to go to bed.

I have to get in bed at such a somewhat early hour because I’ll be getting up pretty soon afterwards. Gone are the days of laying my head on the pillow and being in the same position when the alarm sounds in the morning. Those were wonderful, halcyon days of waking up feeling rested and ready to storm the beaches of the new day. Now, insomnia takes over. First time I’ll get up will be around 1:00 AM. I’ll hit the bathroom, then get a sip of water, then pet the cat who eats in the middle of the night before trying to go back to bed so I can get up at 3:30 AM because I’ve been laying in the wrong position and now my back hurts. This time I have to get up and sit on the couch under a blanket and try to go back to sleep, which of course, is impossible at first so I’ll check my phone for fifteen minutes then doze off only to wake up with a better back but a stiff neck from sitting up and head back to bed about 5:00 AM to be awakened by the alarm at 6:01 to start the day.

Being tired all the time from lack of sleep means I’ve also stopped being smart since around turning 50. I no longer have to be the smartest person in the room. Growing up, I was told entirely too early and entirely too often that I was very smart and unfortunately, I performed so well in school that it convinced me everyone was right. My perceived intelligence became one cornerstone of my identity. I had to be able to answer whatever question anyone posed. I always had to be ready to chime in on whatever subject was extant at the moment and hold forth some soliloquy that showcased just how brilliant I was.

Looking back, I now realize I hung out with some nice people. Most of my friends were kind enough to indulge me when I would hold forth, and some of them would even try to get me started on something just to hear me blather on. It was cute when I was in elementary school, but I can only imagine how tedious it had to be as I got older. Of course, after Budge came along, things improved because she began to regulate how much I was allowed to talk. If I appeared to be gathering a head of steam for a long discussion — usually one-sided, of course — a well placed kick to the shin under the table or a church pinch on the hangy-down part of my arm was all it would take to remind me to curb my enthusiasm.

Realizing I wasn’t as smart as I thought I was took a lot longer than it should have, but once it sunk in, I realized something else. No one cares about what anyone else has for an opinion so debating is a waste of breath. This was especially a trait of my exercise of my Christian faith. I would debate, argue really, for hours online with atheists and agnostics in online chat rooms, and all I was doing was getting my already high blood pressure ratcheted up. It was pointless because I wasn’t going to change their minds and they weren’t going to change mine.

Politics are now treated the same way in my mind. I don’t air my politics in public because more often than not in this neck of the woods its just going to cause a big argument that I don’t care to have anymore. Used to I would trade thoughts with people of other political beliefs than mine, but I know I never changed any of their minds. What we are is pretty well ossified into our personality in our 30’s or so and if you haven’t changed by then, no amount of debate on really any subject is going to change that so I’ve adopted the motto of agree to disagree, if that’s allowed in today’s climate, and keep a friend. The old saying, “you can be right or you can be happy” applies to a lot more than just marriage if you think about it.

One reason I don’t care to debate stuff anymore is time. It takes time I don’t have. Since my 50th birthday, I’ve been a lot more attuned to the passing of time. I have to be honest; I never imagined I’d reach 50 when I was in my teens and early 20’s. I lived such a reckless life running from undiagnosed depression and anxiety, I fully expected to have been long dead in a fiery car crash or letting the darkness consume me and committing suicide by now. I never planned past twenty-five.

Now, though, I am acutely aware of the inexorable march of time towards my final destination. Like I mentioned earlier, my body isn’t what it once was, and I watch as Budge faces the same issues. We are aging together, just like I’d hoped we would, but in the back of my mind, I always hold the thought that someday, one of us will be alone as the other will have gone on. It always shakes me to the core to think I may leave my Budge behind to fend for herself in this awful world and at the same time I shiver to think about facing long strings of endless nights without her to comfort me. It’s such a weight on my mind that I’ve wanted to gather all the cats up and get Budge in the car and drive to Caesar’s Head mountain and just go off a cliff so we all go at the same time and no one is left alone. Alone is such a sad state to contemplate after all these years together.

I am a Christian though, even if not a very good one, and my God frowns upon suicide. How much He frowns upon it, I don’t know, but that’s one of those arguments I don’t get into anymore. I believe this life isn’t the end of our existence. I fully expect to meet Mama and all my grandparents in a place we refer to as Heaven one day. It’s okay with me if you don’t believe that. Once upon a time, I couldn’t have said that and we’d have a comment war online or a shouting match in public, but I don’t feel I have to save anyone anymore. I can’t save anyone anyway. In my older years I have embraced Calvinism and its teachings on God’s Sovereignty so I’m of the opinion these days that whoever is going to Heaven is going and whoever is not isn’t. I don’t know; I may not make it even though I hope to. I guess I’ll find out one day.

I have other thoughts and changes my fifth decade have brought to my life, but if I start writing them all, this post is going to be longer than most people would care to read these days, so just remember I love you all, and keep those feet clean.