When my dad turned 80, he—and we, by default—celebrated all year. My sister made a fantastic, larger-than-life sign of him posing in front of his friend’s antique car, with beautiful calligraphy that trumpeted, “Cheers to you, celebrating 80 years of life!”
The sign welcomed his closest friends and family into a private room at a steakhouse, where we toasted his 80 years—and the grandkids toasted his steady presence in their lives.
The sign moved from the swanky steakhouse to the second-floor banister in my parents’ house. When you walked in, it greeted you—a feel-good conversation starter and a reminder to celebrate life, to look at how far you’ve come, and to remember there’s still more runway ahead, God willing.
Seeing that sign every time I walked in wasn’t just decoration—it was a mirror. It made me wonder what it looks like to be celebrated in real time, while you’re still here to feel it, and to let the people you love mark the moment with you.
That’s how I feel about turning 50. Making it to 50 is no small feat. And while I won’t celebrate all year, I’ve chosen to celebrate all week—really, two bookend birthday weekends that make it a full 10 days. I’m thankful for the people in my life who can celebrate with me. At 50, I’m not waiting for people to do it; I’m asking the people I enjoy being with to join me, and I’m happy they want to.
At 50, life is often a mix, as a minister once said in an Easter sermon, of the personal and the administrative. For example, when a family member dies, you’re overtaken by grief: emotion, memories, and your own sense of mortality. But you’re also hit with the logistics of loss—trusts and estates, obituaries, viewings, burials. How do you reconcile the two? You don’t, exactly. You carry both.
That’s life: two opposing forces, both necessary for the other to move forward. You want the spinach artichoke dip, but you didn’t shop for just the right blend of cheeses. You want to celebrate your 50th birthday with your best friend but don’t want to stay on the line for an undefined length of time and discuss the spa various treatments that can accommodate 2 people at the same time. Without the administrative burden, you don’t get the framed photo or timestamp on your heart. It’s that simple.
So yes, I hope more people celebrate their birthday week, or month, or year—especially for milestone birthdays. Here are five nuggets I’ve learned on the eve of turning 50.
1. I’m learning that being grounded isn’t a personality trait—it’s a practice. It’s therapy and walks, hard conversations and better sleep, and staying present even when life feels undefined.
2. I’m done waiting for permission to take up space, to rest, to change my mind, to celebrate, or to try something I might fail at. The green light doesn’t always come, so I’m learning to step on the gas anyway.
3. My body feels less like an accessory and more like evidence. The thicker skin, the creases, and the tender spots aren’t things to be ashamed of—they’re a record of life. So yes, I’m paying attention: sunscreen, moisturizer, water, movement, and the quiet respect of taking care of what has carried me this far.
4. My definition of “having it together” is simpler: good health, people who love me on the bad days and are OK with the difficult parts, work that feels meaningful most of the time, and a dog who looks like a Fraggle Rock cast member.
5. I’m grateful I can keep myself company. I can take a walk alone or sit at a bar with a book (or a lemon drop martini). I’m welcoming 50 with some trepidation, yes—but mostly with excitement and tenderness for what’s ahead.
As my son likes to say, “Mom, turning 50 is like being in the third quarter.”
Oof. I’m choosing to call it halftime.
by Claudia Caramiello 
by Jennifer Allwood 
by Lisa Ingrassia 
