A Muted Celebration as I Turn the Big 5-0

I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but here goes: Today, I’m turning 50 years old. Fifty! The Big Five-Oh. AARP-benefits eligibility age.

How did that happen?

Truth be told, the signs that I’m getting old have been there for a while: My hair is grayer than it used to be. I recently started taking a statin pill every day to manage my cholesterol. My glasses now have progressive lenses. There’s a slight pain in my lower-back whenever I stand up, thanks to an injury I sustained last summer. I can’t sleep through the night without having to get up at least once to go to the bathroom. I’ve had to have two colonoscopies in recent years, and a third is scheduled for later this summer. I watch the CBS Evening News nearly every weeknight while I eat dinner. And my Mr. Heckles­­/Grandpa Simpsons/Walt Kowalski–like behavior has gotten to be a bit … much.

So, yeah. Much as I’d like to think I’m not as old as I am, it’s hard to deny it: I’m 50.

Ordinarily, I’d be making a bigger deal about a big birthday like this one. And it’s not that I’m not making a big deal about it. I am. But if I’m being honest, my birthday this year doesn’t feel the same as it usually does. And that’s because I don’t feel the same as I usually do. 

How do I feel? I’m overwhelmed. Exhausted. Distracted. Traumatized. And that’s for two main reasons.

First, my father has had some real struggles this year, particularly in the last six months. He’s been in and out of the hospital, and he’s needed to go to rehab three times during these last 12 months. In addition, a series of UTIs and three significant surgical procedures have done a number on his mental capacity and have made for some very real challenges. He just hasn’t been himself: Lately, he’s been delusional, obstinate, antagonistic, and almost infantile. In need of a lot of assistance. Suffice it to say, Parkinson’s and dementia plus anesthesia and/or a UTI is not a good combination. I’ve been “in the shit” multiple times and the emotional toll of witnessing it first-hand has been significant. Not being there to help and knowing the toll all of this takes on my mother is tough, too.

Multiple times, it’s felt like we were coming to the end, and anticipatory grief would set in. But then things would get better and there’d be a sense of relief. It’s always a false sense of comfort, though. In fact, the first half of that equation happened again a couple weeks ago when my dad fell just before Memorial Day Weekend and my mother called me in a panic thinking that was it. After emergency partial-hip-replacement surgery, and a week recovering in the hospital, Dad’s now back in rehab working to build up his strength before he goes back home. But what’s next is a question mark. I hope things turn around again and that I’ll see him this summer when I go back down to Florida. It’s all very scary and stressful, and I’m worried all the time. 

And then there’s the sustained anger, sadness, frustration, disappointment, and all the other emotions I’ve felt since the events of October 7 — exactly eight months ago today. I’ve been accused of being “obsessed” with the current state of being Jewish in the world and told I’ve been posting about it too often on my various social channels. Maybe I am. But nothing else seems to mean much to me these days — other than my parents’ well-being, of course. Not when nearly 125 of my people (alive and dead) are still being held hostage in Gaza, and other members of my community — Jewish people just like me — are being harassed, taunted, and threatened every single day all around the world. It’s hard to think about anything else, or to think about other things not through the prism of this situation.

Being Jewish has always been a strong part of my identity. I went to Hebrew School, I was very active in USY, and I went to Brandeis University. I go to services on the High Holidays, keep Passover, and light Hanukkah candles. I may not be the most observant Jew, but since October 7, I’ve been much more vocal about my Jewishness and much more proud to be a Member of the Tribe.

I suspect it’s because of my unwavering support of Israel and because I post so much about the war and being Jewish and all the antisemitic incidents around the world, and topics related to all of that, that I’ve lost touch with or become estranged from many of my friends in the last year. In fact, very few people in my friends group (Jews and non-Jews) have publicly stood up for folks like me and called out the hate that’s all around us, or even sent a DM or text just to say hello. I don’t understand how so many people can either not see what’s happening, or worse, not care. I don’t understand how they can ignore repeated pleas from those like me who’ve been defending themselves pretty much every single day for (at least) eight months and need to know we’re not alone. Either way, at this point, I’ve stopped looking for the support of many people I considered good friends before October 7. It’s hurtful that I haven’t felt supported by them all this time.

(For the record, there is a core group of people — Jews and a few non-Jews — in my various friends groups who’ve been supportive and who’ve been vocal about what’s been happening, and they have made me feel less alone. I’m very appreciative of these folks.)

Add to that the fact that, more than three years after the start of the pandemic, I’m still working from home every day, which means I spend most of my time on my own, just in general. I still miss being around other people regularly, and I still get a noticeable shot in the arm every time I go downtown, where there’s much more activity and life than there is in my apartment.

But current events and my daily existence have led to me being on my own more than I’d like to be. And I feel like I’m less fun to be around than I used to be. When I am out with other folks, I just don’t have as much to talk about anymore other than what’s going on with my dad and all the antisemitic and war-related news. I wonder, when people see me nowadays, if my RBF (or whatever the male equivalent of it is) is too off-putting. I wonder if this is how it’s always going to be. Either way, I’ve kinda gotten used to it, and I’ve learned to make the most of my own company and to do the things I want to do, the way I want to do them. Life is too short to wait around for other people.

In short: I miss 2019. Life was a lot more fun then. I was a lot more fun then. I wish I could go back.

So, yes, things have been tough lately, and as a result, my mindset on my birthday this year is a bit muted compared with previous years. Certainly, compared with what it was last year.

Thankfully, though, it’s not stopping me from celebrating this milestone. For example, in recent weeks, I’ve seen the play Stereophonic on Broadway (it was very good), and I’ve seen the Rolling Stones and Eric Hutchinson live. In the coming weeks, I’ll be seeing Hootie and the Blowfish, Barenaked Ladies, Edwin McCain, and Collective Soul — all on one bill — in concert. There will be steak and drinks and plenty of sweet treats, too.

But all of that will pale in comparison to the real gift I’m giving myself this year: I’ve decided to spend a week in Israel, volunteering and contributing to the relief efforts there. I knew I wanted to do something significant and meaningful to celebrate turning 50, and after the last eight months, I can’t think of anything more significant or meaningful than this. I haven’t been to Israel since April 1986, when I was just 11 years old, and I’m very much looking forward to going back. Much more to come about that, both during and after my trip.

For now, happy birthday to me. I’m 50. How did that happen? 

(Photo credit: Guillaume de Germain / Unsplash)