I'm pinching myself with regret that four months have gone by since I have written down what's in my head, and now only two months are left before my new decade. My iphone is filled with notes, but when life speeds up, exercise and serious writing get shelved. That's bad on both counts! So here I am, two short months out.
My family and friends tease me a lot about my excitement over turning 50. What's to be excited about? Not much is going to change between October 5 and October 7. I won't be a different person. But I actually am different from the person I was when I turned 40, and when I turned 30, and so on. I was happy with who I was then, and I am happy with who I am now. . . as long as I am different the next time I look over my shoulder.
For the last 20 years, I have been an editor. I have edited articles and reports and media copy and letters and books and catalogs and curriculum, and . . . myself. Yes, I am forever editing myself. Constantly. Ruthlessly. Take the red pen and make it more succinct, more relevant, fix the spelling and grammar, hone in on what really needs to be said and get rid of all the rest. It is vital to the written word and it is vital to my life. Then, the copy gets cleaned up, changes made, and the new draft is that much closer to what it needs to be.
The red pen from my 40s is being incorporated and an updated version is ready for the editor. 50 will be the newest draft of me.