It’s a traumatic event in anyone’s life. You’re coasting along, going about your business, and then one day, you open your mailbox and there’s that letter from the AARP. It happened to me recently. I’m turning 50 this month, whether I want to or not, and somehow THEY KNEW! Truly, until I got the letter, I’d been doing just fine with the milestone birthday. But many a midlife crises has been launched by a letter from the AARP. And the only thing that would make me feel better now is a truckload of birthday gifts. (Hint, hint.)

Fifty will be, by far, the oldest I’ve ever been. And I didn’t need the AARP to remind me of that. Not that they weren’t nice about it. For just $16, they offered me membership in their fine organization, a subscription to their award-winning magazine, discounts on a variety of services, and my very own lobbyists in Washington. Of course, they don’t call them lobbyists; they call them spokespeople. But I didn’t just come out of the voting booth yesterday. I know that a spokesperson is nothing but a lobbyist working on my behalf instead of someone else’s. This not only shows how gullible they think the electorate is, it shows how cynical I’m getting in my old age.

Anyway, there’s more. If I sign up right away, I’ll get a free tote bag announcing to everyone, everywhere that I’m a proud member of the AARP. Coincidentally, it also announces that I’m over fifty–or that I stole someone’s tote bag. And frankly, I’m not sure which I prefer to have everyone think right now. I’m having a hard time picturing myself with an AARP card.

I like discounts as much as the next person. I’ve always wanted my own personal lobbyist–spokesperson. And I’m not ashamed of my age. I certainly never saw much sense in lying about it. I don’t want anyone thinking, “Wow, she looks rough for 29.”

Anyway, 50 isn’t old. It used to be, but it isn’t anymore–especially now that I’m there. Fifty is the new 30 after all; and you never see 30-year-olds carrying AARP tote bags.

Besides, older people are wise and mature. I’m neither wise nor mature, so it stands to reason that I can’t be old either.

Nevertheless, I have noticed some evidence of my advancing age — besides my letter from the AARP. For one thing, I’m increasingly opinionated — but only because I’m always right. Some would say I’m set in my ways, but what can I do? My ways are the best ways. And I may have become somewhat cantankerous. Oh wait. I’ve always been that way.

I admit I check the obituaries more often than I used to. And I find the older I get the more I’m offended by that old Billy Joel song, “Only the Good Die Young,” though it does give me a reason to avoid self-improvement.

I occasionally find fault with the younger generation — much like the previous generation found fault with mine, and the one before that found fault with them, and so on and so forth right back to Eve, who told Adam that finding fault with the next generation is the first sign of aging.

I see better in bright light nowadays, but I look better in dim. And I’ve gone to wearing more comfortable clothing, though that isn’t necessarily a sign of getting older. I think it’s a sign of getting wiser.

I find myself daydreaming about buying a sports car and getting a tattoo. I’m joking! But seriously if I’m in the throes of a midlife crises, it wasn’t brought on by my age. I blame that letter from the AARP.