In the eight months since I’ve turned the “the big 5-0”, several people have asked me how 50 is treating me. I responded to the first few inquiries with assurances it was treating me “fine”, and that I was happy to have achieved half a century of life. As I thought more about this, my answer to the next few people was more honest and insightful. I suddenly felt compelled to acknowledge that while 50 has done me no harm, I have been nothing short of abusive to it. I am fortunate to have reached an age characterized by nearing the mountain top where I will prepare for twilight years, and…
