Wait, It Takes Five Decades To Finally Be You?

About eight or nine years ago, my partner Ed was participating in a jazz-singing workshop led by a groovy-casual, talented singer named Cathy Segal-Garcia, who had some CDs out and traveled the globe, performing.

With her stunning streaks of gray through her black hair, she exuded an approachable elegance and encouraging spirit. Ed loved her approach, her ease, her inner glow.

After one particular workshop, he recounted a discussion between Cathy and one of the younger students that has stuck with me to this day.

Student: “How do you not get nervous in front of all those people?”

Cathy: “You know, when I turned 50, it changed. I finally stopped caring about them. I’m not doing it for them; I’m doing it all for me. It’s my fun.”

Ed: (to me): “And I could tell she really meant it. It showed.”

Me: “Gosh, does it take that long, to age 50, to finally get to that point?!”

I was about age 41 or 42 at the time, a tad naïve, judgmental, and spinning my wheels, always in my head. Yet in the years since I’ve witnessed a similar finding-of-self or arrival-at-self within a few close friends as they approached turning 50. It’s been uncanny but like clockwork.

And gosh, I wanted it for myself…but couldn’t picture it.

First, dynamic Michele, who went from working in a real estate office to stumbling (right before my eyes) upon her true life passion around age 48 — using her gorgeous speaking voice and empathy to narrate audio description tracks in films so the blind can also experience them fully.

I was stunned by how she claimed her space in that arena, becoming an advocate for the community, and gleefully saying -

“I’ve finally found my passion, my true life’s work, my heart’s work.”

You can see it radiating off of her anytime she talks about her next project.

Then there was my pal, David Z., as I call him, who spent years running all over LA and Hollywood like the best of us, networking, vying for that next great role, that springboard up the ladder of the biz. But in his mid to late 40s, (here we go again), he was invited to teach workshops of inclusion for actors with disabilities — wheelchair-bound, deaf, blind, autistic, bipolar, social-emotional issues — the list was endless of those who’d been sadly designated as “other,” yet had that firm artistic fire burning within.

As if the odds of the industry weren’t hard enough! It was humbling. Eye-opening. And inspiring.

And boy, did David find his purpose. He came alive, and his infectious energy touched students and inspired so many to reach their goals with dignity, to truly represent in Hollywood. He found forever-friends in Geri Jewell of The Facts of Life, Jamie Brewer of American Horror Story and Mark Povinelli of Nightmare Alley­ and so many others.

Then a third pal, Robby, was a case study in avoiding confrontation at all costs, sublimating his own wants to never rock the boat, all while getting near-ulcers, and fretting. And presto, just before turning 50, a shocking visible shift. Now he’s thriving, firing on all cylinders, sexy-confident, and out living life his way, pursuing his eclectic interests, non-stop.

These folks have become attractive, magnetically speaking, because they’re now vibrating at the highest frequency.

I stood by, witnessing these beautiful transformations in the lives of three great friends, and thought, whoa, I hope that finally happens to me and I find a true calling.

Maybe that songstress was right. Maybe it does take that long.

And as I sit here now, having finished my 49th year, it IS happening to me too, right on time. There’s a blaring authenticity, a clarity of what I will and will not devote my important brain bandwidth and time to.

But before? Paralyzed with indecision. Living the motto: “Oh I don’t deserve it.” Forever analyzing people’s possible reactions and opinions of me and my life. Very afraid that the real me maybe wasn’t enough.

And now?

Barely a blip — not important.

There’s a clarity. A contentment.

Yes, I do enjoy voiceover and performing. But I’ve never found it to be “my calling” or purpose, per se. Being part of theater was my purpose, for sure, for a long, long time. It may happen again someday, who knows?

But with writing…whoa, it feels like I’ve stumbled upon that passion where hours fly by as I’m deeply challenged, yet focused and happy, tingling and alive.

Feeling true. Knowing that I have worthwhile, relatable insights to mull over, to share, to shed light on.

An avocation.

It’s not saving the world, but it might just add to it.

But wait, how much of this has to do with approaching 50, specifically? And how much — duh! — is just the wisdom of aging, period? Maybe it’s just that unavoidable clarity that comes when we don’t have all the years in the world ahead of us anymore.

It was super frustrating in my 20s and 30s to encounter those ambitious, laser-focused souls who knew exactly what they wanted, certain of every next step forward, who also believed they could do it. How cool to thrive and live those body-youthful years with the world rewarding your every move, affirming that you were on the right path, and then, that you’d arrived. To have the tools and the sense of self so early.

For me, those were a long 25 to 30 years to live through, never feeling as confident or certain, not having a true “this-world-is-for-me” sense of self or belonging. Of claiming my place.

But now I’m suddenly feeling at my best, right at (gulp) 50.

It’s about time, eh?

It’s nice to finally plant the flag, to claim some space, and to say, I’m doing what I want to be doing and I’m doing it for me. The fact is, with that kind of vibration, you usually can’t help but affect the world as well.

So, there will be no more snorting, snickering and rolling the eyes when some goody-two-shoes says, “Well, we’re all on our own timeline” because I now know, it’s true.

And to those of you young bucks afraid of turning 40, afraid of turning 50? I’m here to tell ya that it can indeed get even better.

Thanks for reading words writing by a human for humans. This piece was originally published on Medium.com.