Back to the Gym

I’m woefully behind in my commitment to take (at least) 50 Fitness classes during my fiftieth year.  Life and my schedule have interfered and as a result I now have the muscle tone, flexibility and aerobic endurance of an overweight octogenarian.

This is a wee bit mortifying for someone who used to teach fitness classes professionally. 

 Okay, that was a few years ago and curtailed by a hip injury -- but still.  I’ve gone from teaching eight fitness classes a week (body sculpting, step, Pilates, yoga and circuit training) to being an erstwhile couch potato.

Being a gym rat doesn’t work for me.  I’ve tried.  Oscillating between elliptical, weight training machines, treadmill and free weights bore me to tears.  I have to force myself to the gym every time -- then force myself through the regime.

In contrast, I find fitness classes fun, social and highly motivating.  I like having a regularly scheduled fitness appointment.

So what’s the problem, then?  Why not just sign up for a class or two?  Alas, I’m a stickler for commitment. I won’t register for a class unless I know I can be there for the duration.  This year, my schedule is unsettled.  Either I’ve missed the deadlines to sign up...or I doubt I can make a commitment to be there for the full eight weeks.

The solution materialized yesterday.  The gym where I tried (and failed) to work out now offers classes that sounded interesting.  Zumba, for example.  I didn’t know what Zumba was, exactly, but I expected it to involve Latin music and choreography of some sort.  I enjoy choreography.  It requires brain power than makes me forget I’m exercising.

Full of mad resolve, I headed to the gym, destination:  Zumba.  I went early, actually, to catch the yoga class beforehand. I figured it would behoove me to stretch my carcass for the first time since my brief brush with Bikram (sweatbox) yoga in December. 

The hatha yoga class was a perfect re-entry into fitness.  Sedate and gentle.  It was so relaxing, in fact, that the guy beside me fell asleep and was snoring through the ‘death pose’ that concluded the class. 

Thankfully, the instructor picked that moment to burst into song.  Yes, song.  She serenaded us with a tune deftly performed in Urdu or possibly Sanskrit -- what I hope was a prayer or blessing, but really it could have been a Nepalese commercial for McDonalds, for all I know.  Whatever it was, it was lovely.

There were ten minutes between classes, so I shlepped to the machines and dutifully filled the interval with as many reps as I could muster.  It’s so not my thing...but better to fill the ten minutes with some gym-related activity, given my location.

Before the Zumba class began, I introduced myself to the instructor.

            “First timer,” I said, pointing at myself.  “What do I need to know about Zumba?”

            “Oh just watch me and have fun with it,” she said, wiggling her hips.  “Bring your own flava.”

            “Flava.  Ah,” I said.  “I’ll be in the back of the room and taking breaks when I need to.”

The music commenced and the class snapped into action.  In unison and with no verbal instruction, they snapped their heads to the right and left and commenced a series of isolations.  A typical warm up sequence.

            “Ah so it is like a dance class,” I said happily as I followed their lead.

The next song was a 1980’s classic dance tune...aptly heralding the next sequence of moves.  Moves reminiscent of those old time aerobics classes of the Jane Fonda workout/ headband/leg warmer era.

            “This is like right out of a 1980’s Jazzercise class,” I thought.  “Is this was Zumba is?  The  Jazzercize of the 2010’s?”

It was a blast from the past but a fun one.  You know how you can hear a song you haven’t heard in decades yet somehow recall all the lyrics?  Apparently, it’s the same with dance moves.  My body perked right up and followed right along as if it had done this choreography just yesterday.

Turns out this was another warm-up element.  When the third song commenced, it was, at last, time to Zumba.

Zumba, it turns out, is basically Latin dance moves with a dash of hip hop and a soupcon of bellydancing. Basically, it was a really fun dance class and I was in hog heaven.  It felt so damn good to MOVE.  I merengued and salsa’d and shimmied with my own version of 'flava'.  I shook my middle age carcass like no-one was watching. 

Before I knew it, the hour was up.  I was elated with the experience.  It felt more like a frolic than 'exercise'.  This was exactly the kind of class I’d been yearning to find...and even better, this is an ongoing class that occurs every Monday and Wednesday.  I don’t have to sign up for anything -- just show up when I’m in town. 

 
I’ll be showing up!  Zumba will be a fun and wonderful way to meet my commitment to participate in (at least) 50 Fitness Classes this year. 

Good For You

It’s relatively easy to assess one’s life for important themes or touchstones.  It’s a different process to look for the gaps -- to see the things you might want in your life that are absent.

As part of my gameplan for my fiftieth year, I’m giving some thought to precisely this:  what isn’t presently a part of my life that I’d like to be. 

Here are a couple of examples:

1.  ‘Treats’

Truthfully, self-care has not been a priority in my life so far.  I tend to get wrapped up in other things...until one day I catch a glimpse in a mirror and realize it’s been too many months since my last haircut.  Or I’ll glance down and see my fingernails look like they’ve gone through the woodchipper, which is a liability of living part time on a farm. 

The irony is that I like to get my hair cut.  It feels good.  It’s actually a treat for me.  As is a pedicure or a massage.  Or buying a bouquet of fresh flowers.  Or a wedge of some sinful, stinky cheese that has to be triple wrapped in plastic, lest it permeate the entire contents of the fridge (and jeopardize my marriage).

I do do these things...but on a random, spotty schedule. Certainly not on a regular basis.

This year, I’d like to develop the habit of treating myself well and often.  So I’m committing to indulge in (at least) 50 Treats during my fiftieth.

2.  Fitness

As I child I was not athletic.  Other than dance classes, I shied away from most physical pursuits. 

Ironically, I spent a good chunk of my forties as a part time fitness instructor teaching step, body sculpting, yoga, and more.  Unfortunately, I injured my hip and poof! my days as a gym rat were over. 

In general, I’m in good health.  Especially given my (cough) age.  Sure I walk the dogs every day -- and there is a fair amount of physical labour involved, caring for the 150 fruit trees on our farm. But, frankly, I rarely exercise.  Much as I know *how* to do proper strength training or stretching, I seldom do it.

Lately I’ve noticed that my strength is diminishing.  It’s harder to open jars or carry heavy loads of firewood.  I’m concerned.  I know how important it is for fifty year old women to keep in shape -- to protect our bone density and improve our balance and develop habits to foster wellness throughout our advancing years.

I’ve tried.  I’ve tried setting a timer to ensure a minimum amount of time per day spent stretching or doing basic stretch exercises.  I keep it up for a few days, then find it very difficult to motivate myself to continue.  I adore Wii Fit but don’t seem to be able to make it a part of my regular day.  I love attending fitness classes -- but am concerned about my re-injuring my hip.

During my fiftieth year, I resolve to find a way to work fitness into my life, regularly.

My friend Katherine set the goal of being able to do 50 PushUps by her 50th birthday.  It was a wonderful goal -- she was already quite athletic and healthy -- and the pushups helped her grow fitter and stronger.

I need a similar goal.  But I’ve never been much of a pushup person.   I do like fitness classes, though.  So the simplest solution is to commit to get my saggy ass to (at least) 50 Fitness Classes this year. 

What about you?  What’s presently missing from your life that you’d like to make a point of including in the next year?  Message me or leave a comment below.

Making the Most of Turning Fifty

One consequence of turning fifty is the inevitable life review.  You can't help but contemplate what’s been important in life -- and what matters now.

These are the touchstones for ensuring a fantastic fiftieth year.   Here’s my list, so far:

1.  Experiences.

This is the essence of the 50 Frolics.  Throughout my life, I have enjoyed diverse experiences.  Opportunities to do different things, go difference places and/or interact with different people are intrinsically meaningful to me. Take my birthday, two days ago, for example.  It wasn’t about receiving presents, it was about doing fun things with my family.

2.  Creativity

Creative input and creative expression are the cornerstones in my life, personally and professionally. 

To ensure creative input is part of my fiftieth year, I’m promising to read (at least) 50 Books, to watch (at least) 50 Films and to listen (really listen) to (at least) 50 CDs.   Listening to 50 CDs may seem lame but remember how we used to listen to CDs in high school?  That’s my intention -- to give each CD my undivided attention.  To put on my favorite music and focus on the lyrics, the melodies, the cover art, the liner notes.

As for creative expression, I’m committing to do (at least) 50 Creative Projects this year.  One is this blog.  Another is working through Julia Cameron’s Vein of Gold.  At the moment, I have my tools and supplies assembled to make a necklace this afternoon.  At some point, I need to make a string mural on the entry wall at our farm.  46 to go.  (Feel free to send me ideas).

3.  Friends

Like most humans on the planet, I love my friends.  As someone without siblings, my friends were exceptionally important during my childhood, youth and teen years.  As an adult, besides being a source of fun and merriment, they’ve been a tribe of support, wit and wisdom as we’ve lived our lives.

This past year has reaffirmed just how important they are:  when my mother passed away dear friends jumped in their cars and drove five or eight hours to attend memorial concert.  They showed up at my mother’s house, rolled up their sleeves and helped me through all that needed to be done.  People I haven’t seen for 31 years dropped by my mother’s house, donned gloves and dust masks and set to work. Those who couldn’t be there in person phoned or Skyped or otherwise participated long distance. My friends got me through this trying time.

Of course I'd much rather spend happy times with friends -- thus the 50 Frolics.

And when I think of my closest friendships, I think of good old fashioned chin-wags.  Hours spent talking about every conceivable thing.  It doesn’t matter if we’re in the same room or blabbing on the phone or Skyping overseas...chatting with friends is an activity I adore.  So I’m promising myself (at least) 50 Chinwags during my fiftieth year.

4.  Kindnesses

I’ve been blessed with many kindnesses -- especially this past year.  It’s important to me to pay them forward. 

In the past, my volunteer efforts have focused on adult literacy and in fostering/training future Service Dog puppies.  Less formally, I’ve made and written special cards for those going through difficult times.  I’ve done some pro bono coaching/counseling.  I’ve helped friends and strangers in need -- random (and not so random) acts of kindness.

This year I’ll be looking for formal and informal opportunities for giving (at least) 50 Kindnesses.

5. Learning

I loved school all the way through from Kindergarten to grad school.  When I was in high school, I used to take extra classes at night, for fun -- things like ceramics and yoga.More recently, I’ve thrived on taking classes through the local colleges and Parks & Rec.

However, for the past few months, I’ve been dealing with mother’s estate 3000 miles away. I’ve been away a lot and haven’t been able to attend classes.  It’s the first time in a decade that I haven’t been on campus. It feels wrong.  

I’d love to promise to attend at least 50 Classes this year, but given the necessary travel, the challenges and the uncertainties of the work left to do on behalf of my mother, I hesitate to do so. It's a stretch to commit to something I don't know if I can carry off. 

6.  Water

Being near water is soothing and pleasing to me.  I grew up in an area with many freshwater lakes.  My summers were full of swimming, canoeing, waterskiing and generally frolicking in and around water.  My winters usually include trips to somewhere warmer where I could walk on a beach for miles a day. 

My unhappiest years were spent in grad school in a landlocked location.  My happiest years were spent in gorgeous, waterfront Vancouver.

There’s I reason I now live in coastal California. However, these past few years, I haven’t been taking advantage of it.  The beach is 40 whole blocks away, so I tend not to go there.

This year, is different, however.  Thanks to my recent life review, I am reminded about how important water has been to me...and how good it makes me feel to be near it.  So I’m resolving to make more of an effort to be near water.  Specifically, I’m committing to (at least) 50 Water 

Visits -- to spend some quality time, waterfront. My family’s romp on the Dog Beach on my birthday reaffirmed how wonderful it feels to be on the ocean.  I look forward to the next 49 Water Visits of my 50th year.

7.  Food

Food is my drug of choice.  I love to cook and I live to eat.  When I’m not eating, I’m thinking about my next meal or my favourite ingredients.

That being said, I do tend to make the same things repeatedly and to stick to a limited array of favourite ingredients.  So this year, I’m committing to make (at least) 50 New Recipes. This is a commitment to experiment with new dishes, to sample new ingredients and to diversify my nutritional intake.

*****

Now I’m sure my list is different yours -- which is why I encourage you to go through a parallel process to mine:  thing about what’s been important to you, what matters now, and decide how to apply it to make the most of your fiftieth year.  Please message me or use the comment box to tell me your ideas for making what’s important to you part of your fiftieth year.

This is Your Life

It started when making contact with my high school cohort:  childhood and teen reminiscences.  People remembered things about my childhood that I did not.  Apparently I invited my entire grade three class to come to my house so I could entertain them with a puppet show, for example.  

During the preparations for the party, the scavenging of vintage photos from long-forgotten albums and the conversations at the Birthday Bash, many memories were sparked and rekindled.

Unfortunately, my mother passed away unexpectedly one month before the party.  This meant that at the same time I was co-planning the party, I was also grieving and beginning the behemoth process of dealing with her estate.

My mother had a large house, packed to the rafters.  She never threw anything away.  Job One in managing her estate involved going through all her possessions and every document. My mother’s house harbored reminders of every age, every trip we took, every fad since the 1950’s. 

Going through my mother’s house became an unavoidable life review. 

I found the note my father left on my mother’s car, inviting her for a first date.  I found photos I didn’t know existed.  My childhood books.  Every birthday card I ever received as a child.  Every scrap of paper I brought home from school -- my artwork, my class notes,  my school projects, my cringe-inducing essays.  Awards and prizes I can’t remember winning.  The letter from the dogsitter explaining how my dog had died during one of our trips away.  Most of my toys -- my earliest dolls, my Easy Bake oven, my Spirograph set, my microscope, my hulu hoop. A painting done for me by a school friend who died ten years ago.

It was very difficult to go through everything.  (To be truthful, I’m not done yet.  I have eight more boxes of papers in the attic to excavate).  What I have seen has evoked every possible emotion. Discovery.  Joy. Grief. Pride.  Sorrow. Guilt. Dismay. Regret. Triumph. Wonder. 

It was a life changing experience. 

In addition to my 50 Frolics, I’m committed to complete (at least) 50 Creative Projects in my 50th year.  One of them this blog.  Another is working through The Vein of Gold -- Julia Cameron’s sequel to The Artist's Way.  The latter is a book that has meant a great deal to me.  It educated and inspired me.  It facilitated major insights.  It sparked me to leave the corporate world for creative pursuits.

I’ve purchased at least a dozen copies of the Artist’s Way.  Every time I ‘lend’ a copy to a friend, I end up having to buy a replacement.

I wanted to honour The Artist's Way during my fiftieth year...but I've re-read it and re-done the exercises so many times, it didn’t seem appropriate to go through it yet again. Instead, I’m opting to work through  The Vein of Gold -- the sequel to The Artist's Way and perhaps the only Julia Cameron book I haven’t yet read.

As luck would have it, one of the first exercises is a life review -- to divide up one’s life into five or ten year periods and jot down all the major players, factors, events and memories from the time.  I’ve been beautifully equipped for this task, having just gone through all the mementoes in my mother’s house. 

This exercise is more structured, however -- more guided and more fruitful.  It’s taken me a week but I’ve sketched out my first fifty years.  It’s been a draining, illuminating experience. 

I encourage you to do the same:  Clear some time to think about your life.  (This will take several focused sessions, so pace yourself such that you can give thoughtful reflection to each life chapter). What do you remember from ages 0 - 5? 5-10? 10-15? 15- 20? 20-25? 25 - 30? 30 - 40? 40 - 50?  Who were the key players? What were you chief activities? Amusements? Challenges? As you complete your notes from each time period, ask yourself for insights about yourself at that time:  what kind of person were you?  What was your chief motivation? Failing? What message would you give yourself at that time, if you could?

Fifty New Recipes

Two days before my birthday, I’m undeniably excited -- like a little kid.  This is unprecedented in the past few decades so already the 50 Frolics are having a positive effect.  Unlike most years, I’m not sunk in depression.  I’m not suicidal.  I’m actually looking forward to turning fifty...because of the promise of (at least) Fifty Frolics this year.

I’ve also promised myself other treats.  I’ve examined what’s important to me.  What I truly love. Especially those things I tend to let slip by, undone.  I’m committed to incorporating these elements into this next twelve months.  For example:  I’m going to read (at least) Fifty Books.

Another goal:  to try (at least) Fifty New Recipes.  I love to cook...and I tend to fall back on my favorites.  My intention this year is to expand my repertoire.  For one thing, it’s an opportunity to flex my creativity in the kitchen.  For another, it’s healthier to eat a more diverse range of foods. 

Since we’ll be at our farm on my birthday -- half an hour from town -- going out for a birthday breakfast is far less likely or desirable than making something at home. I’ve combed through my cookbooks to find something special as my first meal of my fiftieth year -- and the first ‘new recipe’ to chronicle on my list.

I adore savoury egg dishes so my first idea is ‘cheese souffle’.  I’ve never made one and would like to have the experience. 

I look up several recipes and am appalled by the number of eggs required.  My husband Jean-Guy is allergic to eggs, I don’t want to make a souffle that serves many people, as I’ll be the one eating it all.  Alas, i have no recipes for individual souffles.  Even Jean-Guy’s dog-eared copy of the classic Joy of Cooking fails me.  They seem to only cook for families of four or more.  And I have no internet connection here at the farm so I can find single serving recipe options.  I move on. 

In an Italian cookbook, I find a bizarre recipe for a souffle that calls for only three eggs.  Alas, it is a Lettuce and Pea Souffle.  Yup.  Lettuce and Pea.  Way to start of my new year with something possibly digusting (Lettuce and Pea?!) AND disastrous (souffle).  However, in the spirit of ‘trying new recipes’, I’m seriously contemplating making it.  It is Different.  It is certainly a New Recipe.  Everything I’ve made out of this particular Italian cookbook has been divine.  Besides, whether or not it’s a success, it’ll be a novel experience, which is really the whole point, now, isn’t it?

Full of mad resolve, I add ‘peas’ and ‘milk’ to our shopping list for when we go to town.

It’s not until we return from town, with peas and milk, that I think to see if we have a souffle dish. 

I look.  We do not.  I now have the ingredients for Lettuce and Pea Souffle, but no vessel in which to cook it.  My spouse suggests I cook them in a muffin tin.  I’m no baker.  I have no idea if that will work.

I thumb through more recipe books.  I find one for a Giant Mushroom Popover -- another New Recipe that sounds interesting. It also uses ‘only’ three eggs...and makes only 2 or 3 servings...rather than the six servings promised by the Lettuce and Pea confection, so the popover would make more sense, from a leftover perspective.

This is feeling like more work and angst than I would like it to be.  I decide to delay the decision until I awaken on 11/25.  See what I feel like.

What about you?  What would make your 50th year special?  I've love to hear about it -- leave a comment or message me.

What Kind of Frolics?

Having committed to enjoy (at least) Fifty Frolics this year, it’s lovely to imagine the possibilities: outings and daytrips and adventures of all sorts.

My top priority is to inform my closest friends about my plan...and to conscript them.

When I call Ellen, she’s on board immediately.

“I’ll be in San Diego for a conference in April,” she said. “We can get a good frolic in before or after.”

“Super!” Over the past decade, we’ve made a point of getting together for a frolic whenever Ellen’s work brings her to SoCal. This was a perfect first promised frolic.

“And I’m renting a house on a beach in Rhode Island in June,” she said. “Do you want to come visit for an East Coast frolic then?”

“Oh boy, do I!” One phone call, two planned frolics.

Another friend I surprises me. She’s a fun person with a quick wit and lover of life. When I phone her to tell her about my plan for 50 Frolics, my announcement is greeted with silence.

Crickets.

“Um. What’s up,” I ask. You don’t like the idea?”

“I don’t have any money right now,” she says.

I’m shocked and baffled by her response. Frolics don’t have to cost anything. We could go for a walk in the woods. We could explore some neighborhood close to where she lives. We could have a sleepover, with board games and whatever merry-making resources we find on hand.

“Well, um, I’ll think about it,” she says.

I take that as a no and dial someone else.

“Fantastic idea,” says Micky, immediately embracing the spirit of things. “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?”

“What?”

“Bikram yoga.”

Now Micky has never struck me as the kind of person who would voluntarily join a 100 degree room full of strangers for an hour of contorting her body in unusual ways -- but apparently I’ve been wrong.

“Bikram yoga it is. I’ve wanted to try it too, but never got around to it. There’s a place not too far from here. I’ll find out when their sessions are.”

This would be ideal: something new, something we’d both been meaning to try ‘someday’...and now we were allowing my 50th as an excuse to actually do it. We schedule a Birkam Yoga frolic for the Monday following my birthday.

I hang up the phone feeling good. I’m off to a great start with several specific frolics already planned -- including unexpected activities such as Bikram yoga and beach time in Rhode Island. I can’t wait to see the frolics that other friends instigate during the year

...and there are plenty of solo options available to me, as well. I could explore cool neighbourhoods in and around the city. Around the farm I can hike, go horseback riding and wine tasting. When I’m in Canada, you can be sure some cottage visits, canoeing and waterskiing will be in order.

It’s going to be a great, frolic-filled year.

What about you? What fun activities can you line up to make this the best year ever?

Why Fifty Frolics?

I’ve spent a significant amount of thought this year, trying to come up with a great way to celebrate turning fifty.  Every idea has been vaporized by practicalities.

A party is a non-starter. My friends are too far flung.  My birthday is on American Thanksgiving so those within driving distance are otherwise occupied.

A day-trip is possible but not exactly desirable on a crowded, often frenetic, holiday weekend.

A get-away trip is possible and desirable under normal circumstances...however I’ve spent the past few months traveling back and forth 3000 miles to tend to my mother’s estate after her unexpected passing.  I’m tired of traveling and drained by the challenges of the situation.  I’ve used up the good graces of my dog-sitters.  My bank account is depleted from repairing my mother’s house.  Jetting off to the Pyramids or absconding to a beach-side Caribbean cabana just seems wrong.  

Rather than get frustrated by a so-so 50th birthday, I’m deciding that the day itself is less important than the year ahead.  Instead of focusing on having a great day -- and risking likely disappointment -- I’m committed to have a great year. 

So what would make this year special for me?  What do I love to do?  What would I love to more of?

The first thing that popped into my head was ‘frolics’.  I’d love to go fun places and do fun things. So why not commit to enjoy frolics throughout the year? 

As I think of it, I’m tickled by the possibilities:  frolics might be mini-adventures -- or opportunities for creative expression -- or athletic endeavors.  They could be done with others -- or solo.  They could be something completely novel...or something I’ve long adored.  I haven’t ridden a horse in a decade, for example.  Might it be time to (literally) get back on my horse?

Okay, so I’m on board with indulging in frolics throughout my fiftieth year.

...and as a way of keeping myself on track with my quest, why not aim to have a certain minimum number of frolics? But how many?  The answer is obvious:  Fifty. 

So I’m committing to enjoy (at least) Fifty Frolics this year.   And to ensure that I follow through, I’m documenting my efforts in this blog.

And I’m inviting you to join me in making this year -- if it’s your fiftieth or some other number -- the best year ever.  What do you love?  What would you like to more of this year?  Make a commitment to enjoy what you love.

Approaching a Milestone

It’s five days until my 50th birthday. I’m doing surprisingly well, under the circumstances.

My typical reaction to a milestone birthday is a tsunami of depressive symptoms, punctuated by existential angst, garnished with self-pity.

I coped with my thirtieth birthday by submerging myself in a vat of Merlot.

I dealt with my fortieth by an uncharacteristic, inexplicable shopping splurge.

“You went shopping,” asked my baffled husband. “You never go shopping.”

“I felt compelled to shop,” I confessed. “I can’t explain why.”

“You went shopping. You felt compelled to shop. And you bought a Matisse lithograph.”

“It seemed to make sense at the time.”

Milestone or no, my birthdays have left a lot to be desired over the past few decades. For one thing, they pale in comparison with the elaborate extravaganzas of my childhood. Did I mention I was an only child? Or that my mother’s creativity in party planning was limited only by the resources available in our town of 5000? Let’s just say that my birthdays were an eagerly anticipated event on our elementary school calendar. As I recall, one year someone tried scalping a couple of invitations and all hell broke loose.

These days, short of having Cirque de Soleil choreograph and perform something in honour of my birthday, I’m bound to be a tad disappointed. This is the excuse my spouse gives when explaining why we don’t do anything.

“If we go out, you’ll just be disappointed,” he reasons. “It won’t be good enough.” This is the curse of being married to a perfectionist: ‘Good enough’ is very, very rare. And if something won’t be ‘good enough’, why bother?

Besides, it’s not like we can throw a party. For one thing, my friends are

far-flung across the globe and not easily summoned. For those within driving distance, there is a different impediment. Alas, my birthday coincides with American Thanksgiving. (For those of you who live elsewhere, I hasten to explain that this is a huge family holiday involving mandatory plane travel, days of preparations, excessive eating and unavoidable football watching followed by a frenzy of premature Christmas shopping). There is no time or inclination during the four-day Thanksgiving weekend that allows for much in the way of a birthday celebration.

Oh sure, I get the odd token card or phone call. My buddy Debra reliably appears at my door bearing flowers, gifts and heartfelt enthusiasm. But otherwise, my birthday is typically a non-event.

During milestone years, having a birthday in the eleventh month of the calendar year has its own unique challenge. Basically I have to grapple with the impending age change over and over again as my friends go through the process during the intervening months. Picture a slow-moving steamroller, pointed my way, plowing down my friends en route.

And milestone years are a particularly nasty reminder of -- there’s no other way to say it -- aging.

It doesn’t help that I live in L.A. where aging is punishable by ostracism. Where plastic surgery is an amateur sport. Where real housewives make the Real Housewives look like fossils.

Do I really want to draw attention to my age in this milieu? I do not. Nor do I have the wherewithal to put together a special social event to advertise my exact decrepitude.

And 2011 is proving to be a particularly challenging year for me, in general. A few months ago, my mother passed away unexpectedly. My forty-ninth year has been grief-stricken, sleep-deprived and otherwise difficult as I do my best to manage her estate from 3000 miles away.

You can see why it’s odd, indeed, that I’m hurtling towards fifty and feeling fine about it. Actually looking forward to it a bit.

Why? Because I’m approaching it differently this time. Realizing the futility of having a terrific twenty-four hours, I’m not even trying. Instead, rather than focusing on the day, I’m shifting my attention to the year.

Specifically, I’m giving myself the gift of at least fifty frolics during my fiftieth year. I plan on using my fiftieth birthday as an excuse to have a whole lot of fun and to indulge in the things I love. And in doing so, I’m committing to making my fiftieth year on this planet my best ever.

If you’re turning fifty, I encourage you to do the same.

I'd love to hear about how you handle milestone birthdays. Tell me about it in the comments section -- or message me.