Dreams Don't Have Deadlines
I refuse to accept I can no longer pursue a "dream life" just because I'm 50
Well, it happened. I don’t know how, or why me, but sure enough, the inevitable has occurred.
I turned 50.
The younger version of me never could have imagined that my life would still be such a shit show so in flux at this point in middle age. Aren’t most 50-year-olds supposed to know what they’re doing in life and have their shit figured out? Because I most certainly do not.
When I look back at the decades that are behind me, my 20s (of course) were for being an idiot and making sure I wouldn’t hit my 30s without having embraced every kind of adventure. (Mission accomplished!). My 30s found me unhappily married and later divorced, dealing with the grief of my brother’s suicide, and making significant professional and personal changes to put me on a path to become who I thought I was meant to be.
So then what about my newly concluded 40s? Looking back, I think every step I took was geared toward me pursuing my dream life, whether I consciously made that decision or not. Had I defined for myself what my dream life would look like? No, outside of the very clear realization that my idea of “dream” is probably different than the traditional clichés, because trust me, no version of mine would involve a husband or children! Rather, I was seeking a path that would allow me to embrace my independence, relocate away from the city (D.C.) where I had become bored and complacent, and surround myself with communities that would help to build me up.
Well, that dream was a bust.
Back in 2019, I packed up my D.C. life and moved to Seattle, ready for new adventures and opportunities. I was still running my own consultancy, still swinging from the trapeze, confident about leaving the place where I had called home for 20 years. But little did I know that the big life adventure I would experience would be a global pandemic that shut down the world.
Desperate for community, two years later, I accepted a job with one of my clients, shut down my business, and relocated to the worst place on earth, Texas. Absolute hell (yes, even Austin). I was elated when my company decided to open an office in Manhattan, and 365 days after I arrived, I was once again on the move, this time to New York City.
I couldn’t have been happier! I always assumed I would end up in New York one day. I’m an urban girl; the suburbs are my idea of a nightmare. What better place to be than the Big Apple? It was as though the challenges and struggles since leaving D.C. were paying off. Dream life — finally!! — here I come!
But the nightmare began the moment I arrived.
A shithole apartment that was left in absolute filth, a key that didn’t work to unlock the door, no functioning hot water, and a landlord who decided to gaslight me and say that was just a New York City thing and no apartments ever had functioning hot water. A building-wide bedbug infestation I would soon discover the hard way, in the form of bites all over my body. The universe was sending me signs the moment I arrived, starting with that damn key, but I was in too deep (and too afraid and overwhelmed) to listen and to pivot.
I was unemployed and homeless eight months later.
Through the kindness of friends that I may never comprehend, I found myself back in D.C., and broadened my job search to include the region I had deliberately and intentionally left four years earlier. Sure enough, I found a job in the Virginia suburbs. You know how I feel about suburbs, but the job checked a lot of boxes in terms of what I was seeking for professional growth. Unfortunately, this job ended up being so terrible that I didn’t just hate the job … the job actually made me hate myself.
Any dream about a “dream life” — even a professional one — was killed. I became a shell of myself, basically always in survival mode, forcing myself to show up and pretend to be someone I was not in the worst possible way.
While I don’t believe in New Year’s resolutions, I knew I needed to make changes when the calendar turned to 2025. And long story longer … I now have a new job and will be relocating back to New York City before the end of the year. I also lost all of my pandemic weight and then some, so for the first time in I can’t even remember how long, I physically feel like myself again, as I prepare to mentally and emotionally take on what’s next.
So that was a very long way to get to the question that remains. Now, I am 50. Is it a little absurd to still be chasing a dream life when more of my life is behind me than in front of me? Should I just accept whatever realities are handed to me (or come to me from the consequences of my decisions) and stop seeking something more? Do I have the right to continue to pursue a broader happiness as I enter my sixth decade of life?
Damn right I do.
Let’s be clear, I’m not looking for a Sex and the City life — I’m too old for that, but too young (and poor) for an And Just Like That life. I have no interest in cosplaying like I’m a ‘90s college sorority girl again, trying to be a West Village girl (as much as I love the neighborhood). I lived through the baggy mom jeans once in my life, I’m not revisiting that again.
So now the challenge is in front of me. This single, childfree woman needs to build a community and a life in a new city, where she can not only survive, but actually thrive. I hope I have it in me to not to be jaded and cynical, but rather aspirational and inspired, willing to step outside of my comfort zone and take some risks. Of course, everything may just fall apart now that I’m 50 (I may have broken my hip just typing that).
I am embracing the fact that dreams don’t have deadlines1. I’m ready to life my best life (and cash in on karma points I’ve certainly earned) in my 50s and beyond.
While Grammarly was used to improve the writing of this post, no other forms of AI were used for content creation.
I can’t take credit for this statement. I first heard it shared by Bridget Everett in an interview she did with CBS Sunday Morning, and she gives credit to LL Cool J. DDHD!
P.S. Yep, we’ve determined what my next tattoo will be.