Bryan Adams said it best.

I used to think 50 was old. My parents were REALLY old when they were 50, at least to my 20-year old self, they were. Fifty years old seemed really far off, even in my 40s. When my younger self pictured 50, it wasn’t with a cranberry vodka in my hand, dancing in my pool with my favorite girlfriends while wearing an expensive dress. No. This birthday came with an unexpected serenity, surety, and the typical Scarlet O’Hara attitude of “I won’t think about that today.” Ever since my 49th birthday last June, I’ve been telling everyone, “I’m almost 50,” which was not pre-meditated or intentional, but I think it helped when I ACTUALLY turned 50 this month, because nothing about the day bothered me. My friends and family threw a huge party for me, and it felt almost like I tricked life by sneaking into this decade laughing, slightly buzzed, and surrounded by my “head table for life.” The girls in the photo with me (I still call us girls) are each turning 50 this summer, as well. I think I showed them how to do it the sneaky way–enjoying it–because there are NO refunds.