I turned 50 last year.
Considering the significance of the milestone, turning half a century (and it sounding so profound and a little bit exhausting), I was more or less unphased by it.
If anything, I was pretty darn thankful.
Thankful because I know it’s a privilege to grow older. Thankful that despite a pandemic, I was still able to celebrate with a socially distanced themed cocktail party.
Growing up, the idea of being 50 was an age that didn’t bare thinking about. Parents and old people were 50. It was perceived as the age of decline, mind and body wilting in protest.
Listen to Mamamia Out Loud, Mamamia’s podcast with what women are talking about this week. Post continues below.
And yet, here I am.
I remember when I was thirteen, mum had arrived home from the Saturday morning grocery shop and she handed me what was to be my first ever beauty product.
A thick, white cold cream that made me feel womanly and special.
Of course today, 13-year-olds would find this outrageous, no doubt raising their beautifully laminated eyebrows in disbelief, as they scroll through their social feeds, soy latte in one hand, ‘adding to the cart’ in other. So different to my reality at thirteen!
Nevertheless, when entering my teen years, I felt very grown up and worldly.