Suddenly, 50 Doesn’t Seem So Old
If I could go back in time, I would do two things.
If I could go back in time, I would do two things.
First, and most obviously, I would try to warn 15-year-old me that I did not, in fact, have to buy multiple copies of Jim Lee’s X-Men #1. It was silly to think that the early ’90s comic book speculation boom would last forever, and, in retrospect, I would have been much better off putting my money into Beanie Babies.
Second, I would travel back to September of 1996, when I was 20 years old and my father was turning 50. My stepmother had thrown him a giant party and invited friends from every phase of his life to come celebrate the day with him. I can remember, very clearly, walking around that party and thinking to myself: Well, isn’t this a nice end-of-life celebration?!
If I timed it right, I could arrive the exact moment that thought entered my young and overly smooth brain … and slap myself into semiconsciousness.
I don’t entirely blame myself, though. Fifty was an outlandishly high number to someone who was only two months removed from finally being able to buy alcohol legally for the first time. My father might as well have been a Rivendell elf, splitting his time between healing hobbits and forming fellowships and whatnot.
But, as Ferris Bueller once said, “Life moves pretty fast,” and everybody—from the sportos and motorheads to the geeks, wastoids and dweebies—soon finds themselves hitting their own once-unthinkable milestones. And, by the time you’re reading this, I’ll have hit mine.
I’m turning 50.
In a lot of ways, I’m lucky. Because I’ve always had the athletic prowess of an arthritic hamster, I haven’t really noticed any kind of physical decline. I was born with the bones of a 50-year-old man and my body just grew in around them. I can confidently say that I move as well now as I ever did!
Also, my job is fairly safe. Sure, Netflix prefers younger comedians, with wrinkle-free faces and references that don’t lean so heavily on ’80s and ’90s pop culture, but people who pay to see comedy are usually older. Plus, I can always find work on cruise ships—on some lines, I can get well into my 90s and still be among the youngest people on the ship!
The difficulty is in the psychology of it.
If you’re in your 20s and reading this, well, first, according to our demographics, you probably dropped a bottle of Polaner’s All Fruit on the floor, slipped on the apricot spread, grabbed at the tablecloth for balance, and are now on the ground, with this magazine open to this article on the floor next to you, and you’re currently reading it to stay conscious. Keep fighting to stay awake! Help is on the way!
Second, here’s something you should know: you never really stop thinking you’re in your 20s.
I keep assuming that I’m a young man, and the world—especially mirrors!—keeps insisting that I’m not. It’s completely ridiculous. I’ll have actual, real thoughts like: Maybe I should get into jujitsu! Or, maybe I should learn the clarinet! Or, maybe I should become an expert on Leo Tolstoy!
I’m not saying that older people can’t do those things, just that it’s silly that my brain keeps ideating on the future like there’s an infinite amount of it. The clock is ticking and the sad reality of aging is that while I still might be able to do anything, I now know I can’t do everything.
My youth was filled with endless possibility. It also had endless excitement. In my teens, I would be excited about the mall. Now? If NASA called me tomorrow and told me I was selected to go to the moon, my first thought would be about whether the trip would conflict with bulk trash day, because I have an old ottoman and rusted grill that need to be hauled away.
I have my own kids now, and I’m sure my 18-year-old is looking at me the same way I looked at my dad: with utter disbelief that a human being could live for 50 whole years and still be alive! But I look at him the same way my dad looked at me: with a wry smile.
See, all three of my kids are about to go watch the movie of their lives—school, college, marriage, babies, arguments with the tax assessor—and I get to watch it with them! Except, I’ve already seen it, so I also get to watch them. The only thing better than a great movie is watching someone else experience it for the first time.
That’s the best part of aging, and I would go back in time to tell my younger self that—right before I slapped him.
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Published and copyrighted in South Jersey Magazine, Volume 23, Issue 4 (July 2026)
Published and copyrighted in South Jersey Magazine, Volume 23, Issue 4 (July 2026)
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