Starting Over at 50
A new family changes your outlook.
Everyone needs to start over with something late in life. Because starting over late is perhaps the most ambitious, courageous, and life-affirming thing you can do.
The classic arc of life is highest before our middle ages: we might go to college, we might have a career, we might meet someone special, start a family. The kids grow up throughout our thirties and forties, then they’re out of the nest…and we coast the rest of the way.
There’s a lot of talk about how 50 is the new 40, especially if you’re healthy and fit. But starting over—whether in your career, your gender, your relationship, your country—at age 50 takes guts.
Because when you hit the half-century mark, you can’t avoid seeing your life as “years left” versus “unlimited.” Your mortality seeps slowly into your consciousness, and it’s always there.
At age 50, you begin to notice little things. Like you don’t recover as fast after a workout (and injuries take months to heal). If you don’t already wear glasses, you start pushing things farther away to read them. And sometimes, you even suffer that most ignominious of aging symptoms: you go to bed feeling fine and wake up hurting somewhere.
In my case, I started a new family at 50. Well, actually at 48, to be precise. My first wife and I had a daughter, Kate, when I was 30. I was in and out of several relationships over the next 18 years…and by the time my daughter entered college, I was living with a very special woman named Jamie—and had a feeling this would last.
We never got married. We’d both been there, done that, and were content simply being committed life partners living together.
I’ll never forget the day when, standing in the driveway after coming home from work, Jamie told me, half-happy, half in tears, she was pregnant. I was 47 at the time, she was 30.
I never planned to find a woman that much younger, it just happened that way.
Had I not already been a father, I might have flipped out. But in that moment, standing by my car in the driveway, everything went into one of those slow-motion-yet-rapid movie flashbacks: I remembered the birth of my first daughter and how awe-inspiring it was…the joys of watching her grow up…the pride at seeing her graduate high school and go off to college…and all the bad moments were mysteriously edited out of the flashback.
In that moment, I thought two things: I know how to do this, and it’ll be fun.
Nine months later Jamie gave birth to a beautiful baby girl we named Keira. The birth was surreal…and I had to keep reminding myself that yes, I was actually experiencing this again at age 48.
I’d be way out of line if I didn’t give Jamie 90% of the credit for raising Keira. I honestly don’t think I could have done it alone. But I tried my hardest—and I believe succeeded—at being a good dad.
Flash forward two years…and it happened again. Except this time we were both more stoic about it. Jamie just showed me the pregnancy test strip that said “YES.” The truth is, neither of us ever wanted to raise an only child. We’d both had siblings, and both believed that a kid should have at least one. So we just took it in stride.
Nine months later Jamie gave birth to a little boy we named Evan. By this time, I’d hit the half-century mark.
Just before Evan was born, I started a new job as creative director for a major university. We relocated the family, and everything felt new.
It was like I’d rewound my life 25 years and everything was better than it was 25 years ago…except for those occasional nagging pains and having to push things farther away to read. And my hair continuing to thin.
When I try to remember the early years of my first daughter Kate’s childhood, things are somewhat blurry. But I’m certain I had more energy than I do now. I love my new kids, but raising them has been exhausting. More often than I care to admit, I’ve had to say “Not now sweetie—daddy just needs to sit and chill for a few minutes.”
And once again, Jamie does 90% of the work. And though it sounds pathetic, the 10% I do (outside my job) is about all I can handle. (Okay, some days I do a lot more, but she still gets most of the credit.) Not a day passes when I don’t wake up and brace myself for the day—and the kids. Keira is a rampaging three-year-old now, and Evan is pushing two and showing all the classic signs of being a little boy: driven to get into trouble at every turn.
So that’s how I started over late in life. And regardless of how anyone starts over, it changes your outlook. I still think of my life in “years left,” but now, that feeling of mortality is balanced by a determination to stay as fit and healthy as I can.
I’m determined to see my kids graduate high school and hopefully college. I’m determined not to be a feeble old geezer when my kids are young adults. It’s a lot to live for.
There are times when I let the what-ifs get the best of me. I think of the 50-something mountain biker who keeled over dead in a race just a few positions ahead of me. I think of my late grandfather who had terrible arthritis (and that it can be hereditary). I think of the enormous challenge of staying current and relevant in my career when I’m surrounded by 20- and 30-somethings.
And I think of the countless fast-food burgers and pizzas I’ve eaten in my life…and though I’m in very good health, I wonder if they might still exact their revenge on me sooner than I hope.
It’s not easy starting over. But life is nothing without a challenge. My kids keep me young at heart…and with some work, younger in my body. And instead of thinking of my life as monolithic…I now think of it as my second life. And that’s a good thing.
