On Turning 57

A few days ago, I turned 57. Fifty-seven. 

Aging is one of those constants in life that genuinely feels dichotomous. Of course, the definition of aging is to continue living and moving forward, which is the goal. However, almost all of us want to stop time, or at the very least, slow it down. But, alas, to stop time is to die, to cease existing. So age I must. 

I’m not going to lie; this year’s birthday felt hard. Here I am, aging in my new home in New York City. Of all of my birthdays, this is the first one where I have no clear direction. No plans. No rehearsals. No upcoming classes to teach or shows for which I am preparing. Usually, with each passing year, I take stock of how my life is moving along on my birthday. But, as I was sipping my celebratory cocktails, I shared with Ashay how I had primarily been feeling blue all day after he had inquired how my birthday had been. It is challenging for me to be without aim. But that is what I am experiencing – aimlessness. Perhaps this place of uncertainty is where I am meant to be at this particular time. And maybe if I lean into this moment, I can find a new direction, a new path. 

Friends of mine, who follow my writings, have inquired – will I change my blog to 57 And The City? To which I have replied – no, I don’t think so. 56 is the age I was at when I began this journey, and it will always represent a time in my life where change was abundant, new adventures were prevalent, and the bravery of starting over was just within my reach. 

Besides, 56AndTheCity just sounds better! 

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