A few years ago, my cousin’s young wife told me that she looked forward to turning 50.
Silly, lass, I thought, struggling with the fact that I was indeed many years older than she. I envied her youth and scoffed at her eagerness to gallop forward into time.
I don’t scoff anymore.
I turned 47 on Tuesday, a number that would have made me shriek a few years back. But I welcomed it and like my cousin’s wife, I look forward to 50, though I am much closer to it now than she was when she made her shocking declaration.
For the first time in many years, I am working next to people who are, well, very young. I am old enough to be their mother, I tell them. That was perhaps the biggest adjustment for me when I transitioned into a new job at CNN. For so long, I was the kid, surrounded by sage newspaper folks.
I look at my new colleagues and wish them well in their journey. And I’m glad that I have progressed as far as I have. For the things I know. The lessons I learned. The mistakes I made. The joys of love and marriage. And the sorrow of losing a mother, a father and friends and relatives I cherished.
It took 47 years to make me who I am today.
I look forward 50. 60. And beyond.