It started as a trip to my mailbox, but it soon became an existential crisis.

Being the man of the house, its my duty to collect the mail and sort through the thousands of pieces of junk mail to find the important stuff;  bills, letters, greeting cards, etc.  I usually make quick work of any mail that is not a bill or personal letter, and after a quick scan of the day’s delivery I tend to take 90% of the mail right to the recycling bin.  Most mailers that are marked with compelling reasons why you should open them are usually the first to go (I don’t care that it’s a ‘limited time offer’, or that this is a ‘special offer to our customers’, you’re going straight to the landfill!).

For some reason, however, a letter with my name on raised my curiosity.  It was obviously a mass-mailed letter;  the kind of letter that prints the text on the envelope in a way that makes it look like actual handwriting.  I was not fooled into thinking this was a letter from someone I know, but something about it compelled me to place it in the ‘keep’ pile rather than to share the fate of the other trash it was delivered with.  The front of the envelope read “Membership Card Enclosed”.  Because my ego loves to be fed with the idea that someone wants me to be part of their special club, I tore open the envelope to see what it was.  Could it be a MENSA invitation?  People magazine informing me I am in the running for this year’s “Sexiest Man Alive”?  Nope, it was worse….much worse.

It was my AARP membership card.

I thought it had to be a mistake.  Doesn’t the acronym ‘AARP’ stand for “American Association of Retired Persons’?  I am in no way close to retirement, so how could they send this to me?  Maybe it was meant for my parents, and they just made an error, right?  I did just have a birthday, so maybe they confused my birthday with my dad’s birth year, or someone made a clerical error when they entered info about me somewhere in the world.  I can’t be old enough for this, can I?  CAN I?!?

Turns out, I AM old enough to be a member.  The age limit to join starts at 50….50!  Who can ‘retire’ at 50, other that tech startup Bros or lottery winners?  Did they think I am a retired 50-year-old who just discovered oil in their backyard? I mean, the NERVE of these people trying to get me to join their geezer club when I am clearly too young, pretty and virile to be lumped in with blue haired folks at the senior center!  I was so stunned about this invitation that I felt compelled to go right to my PC and craft a sternly worded letter to the President of the AARP, chastising them for their sloppy fact checking and looking for them to apologize to me for making me feel old!

Then, only after I got tired trying to get to my computer and needing a nap, I finally resigned myself to the truth:  I am, in fact, not a young man anymore.  In my 40’s, everyone would say cute things like, “You’re only as old as you feel!” or “Everyone knows 40 is the new 30!”.  So far, a few weeks into my 50’s, I don’t hear so many catch phrases to help buck up other 50-year-olds.  I guess once you’re out of your 40’s, you’re on your own to make yourself feel better about it.  One thing was clear;  I was officially middle, middle-aged, and AARP knows about it.

So what did I do about this membership invite?  I did the only thing a sensible a middle-aged man would do;  I signed up.  Hey, if there are discounts to be had I’m going to take advantage!  Plus, since I’m too old to be carded for alcohol purchases, maybe I will get the same thrill when I get carded trying to get a senior discount!  “You can’t possibly qualify for the senior discount!”, the waitress will say. “You look too young, and you still have all of your hair!”.  I’ll just smile at them, with all of my original teeth, and say “Read ’em and weep”, as I slide my new AARP card across the table to her.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I have accepted that I’m 50.  While that seems like such a BIG number to hang on my name, I feel ok about it.  Luckily, I am in good health and life is good.  I don’t feel like I’m nearing ‘the end’ of anything, and there is still adventures to be had, kids to launch out into the world, friends and family to spend time with.  In other words, there is still so much to do, and I just don’t have the time to worry over a number.  Besides, it I do want to brood over my age, I’ll need a nap first—it’s just what people my age do.