50.

Two days ago, I turned 50. I started writing this particular blog two days before the milestone day itself. I wanted to write something about what is generally regarded as a ‘big’ birthday, partly because it’s big and partly just to attempt to consider my feelings about reaching it. The blog is called Middle Age Fanclub, after all.

A few years ago, I didn’t actually think that I was going to get here. Lying in a hospital bed, contemplating the events that had got me there – and that would also lead to the birth of this blog – I was pretty much in shock.

I’ll keep it brief because I’ve covered it a few times before here, but about month after my 46th birthday I was admitted to hospital with heart palpitations. More than one person who looked after me that night told me I was lucky to be alive. It was made abundantly clear to me that I was on my way to a heart attack. I didn’t stay long in hospital, but when I was eventually sent packing it was with a large amount of medication that would stop any blood clotting and keep my heart working like a heart should.

Around a month later I was back in the same place undergoing a lengthy procedure that would hopefully sort things out, again cared for by incredibly lovely and talented people. And about a year after that I was discharged from hospital care and told that my heart was healthy and strong once again.

So above everything, turning 50 is quite nice really! And yet, I can’t say I’m fully enjoying it, which I guess is pretty much par for the course. The older you get, the more conscious of your age you become. And try as I might, I can’t help but feel a little bit uncomfortable about it all.

So what’s 50 like then? Well, I’d like to think that I look and feel Ok for my age. A friend recently told me that she would never have placed me as almost 50, referring to the fact that she’d have thought of me as just a few years older than herself. She’s in her thirties. I don’t know whereabouts in her thirties because a gentleman should be asking a lady her age, but thanks Gemma (she’d like you to know that you can find her as the star of Episode 3 of Educating Yorkshire. I’d like you to know that she’s extremely lovely, kind and funny and that you should seek that episode out). Gemma’s comments really lightened my mood that day and some of my other friends have said the same or similar across the latter years of my forties, so in many ways 50 doesn’t bother me.

Since my heart problems I’ve worked really hard to get myself fit. When Covid hit I doubled up on effort and although there have been a few wobbles – mostly from my belly -along the way, I’d say I’m in better shape than your average 50-year-old. I run every week and coach a football team which means I get a bit more exercise there and that keeps me ticking over nicely. I rarely feel poorly.

Fifty and the years approaching it, have made me feel a lot more tired though. The body does not recover or bounce back quite as sharply as it used to. Neither does the mind. But I suppose that’s par for the course really. Life is pretty demanding, so having worked pretty solidly for something approaching thirty years, I suppose I’ll get more tired than most. It’s still a feeling that has taken me by surprise though. I recently wrote a piece evaluating how old I feel and settled on 18 and I’m happy with that. But sometimes, those 50-year-old aches and pains and the regular craving for a nap anywhere past 4pm are slightly unwelcome!

I can’t say I like being 50. When I was younger 50 seemed ridiculously old and so, naturally, there’s a bit of me that feels ridiculously old now! Now that I’ve hit 50, there’s a bit of a feeling of disbelief. While I know exactly where the time went, I’m still left questioning where the time went! It genuinely doesn’t feel like more than a few years since I was stumbling off the revolving dancefloor again on the boat (a floating night club in Newcastle, actually called the Tuxedo Princess but known to all as ‘the boat’). It feels like minutes since I was trawling the racks of vinyl in the Music Box in Blaydon or sitting in my best mate’s bedroom making music. University seems like yesterday, the stream of dead end jobs I found myself in afterwards, still fantastically fresh in my mind and the last two decades as a teacher have flown by. And yet, retirement is possibly just a little bit in front of the horizon.

Getting to fifty brings a few problems that I really don’t want to be dealing with. How long before I’m duty bound to go and have my prostate examined? Please let it be a good while yet! Is there a cut off point for wearing certain clothes? I’m really not ready for slacks or cheap, terrible fitting jeans with slip on shoes. But I really don’t want to look like the oldest swinger – not the sexy time type, I hasten to add – in town either. Am I getting my hair cut too short? Should I be telling my hairdresser not to use the clippers and instead leave me with a decent covering of hair and thus a smattering of dignity, rather than anything that could be deemed too young? And – oh, the horror – do I have to start listening to music like Renee and Renata’s greatest hits, Phil Collins, Mike and The Mechanics and Roxette? Am I too old to keep seeking out new music when I’m old enough to be most of their dads? (This ‘old enough to be your dad’ theme is starting to get worrying, by the way…)

Worrying as it is, this ‘dad’ phenomenon is one that repeats itself at work. I work in a department where I’m old enough to be almost all of their dads, a sentence that I’d like to instantly apologise to them and their mams for. I could comfortably, age-wise, be their dads though. I think in a way, it keeps me feeling young – working with them that is, not the awareness that in a parallel universe, I could have fathered them. They don’t treat me like their dad or worse still, their grandad, although that may well be my nickname in the English office, as I’m rarely in there. But no one is yet offering me a hand carrying piles of books or a quiet place for a nap, so that’s nice. My department is almost all women and I refer to them as my big little sisters – big because they’re all far more mature and intelligent than me, but little because they’re all much younger and I swear it’s some sort of elixir of youth working with them. However, every time we get a student teacher in school, I look at them and wonder when we got a sixth form. Or how I missed non-uniform day or ‘Bring your Teenager to Work’ day. It doesn’t end there though. As a trainee teacher I taught an A-Level class that contained our now Headteacher. That’ll make you feel old, believe me. So work is no sanctuary from being 50.

Fifty and its approach has made me restless. I had so many hopes and dreams when I was younger. I guess we all do. But I don’t feel like I’ve achieved a lot at all. Is that a failing or simply a fact of life? Probably the latter, but it’s still not an easy pill to swallow, if I’m being honest. I’ve travelled, but not enough for my liking. I’ve seen amazing things, but would have loved to have seen more. I’ve been privileged to have been a teacher for over two decades and adore my job, but it was never what I actually wanted to do with my life and I still found myself wondering about being a long distance lorry driver only last week. It’s funny how a simple number can make your mind somersault all over the place. Yet, maybe not being simply satisfied at this time of life is a good thing.

For all the negatives though, it brought out an amazing outpouring of love and kindness from those around me and although I’m really not comfortable being the centre of attention, the day itself was largely lovely. Whatever age I turned, I certainly felt loved by many people.

So, 50? Confusing, terrifying, humbling and many other ‘ings’ that I can’t really consider all at once. And there’s not a great deal I can do about that. So, I’ve decided just to dive in and make sure that while I can, I’m going to enjoy life, regardless of my age. 50 has happened, just as 60 will and 40 did. They’re all daunting, but none of them have wiped me out and so there’s nothing for it but to get on with life! I think I” spend a while adjusting to this next phase of my life, but I’m sure I’ll get used to it!