TRYING YOUR AGE

 There’s something no one tells you about age:

It doesn’t automatically come with wisdom.

It doesn’t guarantee maturity.

And it absolutely, categorically, does not cancel bad character.

Age is just a number. Growth is a decision. And some people 😂 😂 decline the invitation.

At 50, many people are in their earned era. Babysitting grandkids with soft laughter and hard boundaries. Retired or semi-retired. Planning cruises like it’s a competitive sport. Collecting passport stamps instead of people’s secrets. Comparing wine regions with unnecessary confidence. Arguing passionately about which beach has the softest sand and the least drama, because they’ve already survived enough drama to last three lifetimes.

Some are wealthy in money.

Some are wealthy in peace.

Some are wealthy in both and still go to bed early.

Resting.

Reflecting.

Enjoying the fruits of decades of labour.

And then 🤔 there are the other ones.

The ones who missed the memo.

The ones who skipped the chapter called Self-Awareness and somehow never noticed it was missing.

The ones who aged physically but stayed emotionally trapped in lunchtime gossip at secondary school if you know what I mean 😂,plastic chairs, loud opinions, zero accountability.

These are the people who don’t ask, “How can I evolve?”

They ask, “Who hasn’t been discussed yet?”

And yes, enter the 49-year-old.

Not resting. Not reflecting. Not traveling the world or building generational peace. No, She’s on a different mission entirely, finding the next name to chew on so she can remain relevant in conversations that would die instantly without borrowed drama.

Because when you don’t have growth, you manufacture noise.

When you don’t have purpose, you collect people’s stories like currency.

And when your own life feels painfully unremarkable, gossip becomes a personality trait.

This is the age where wisdom should be handing out advice, 

But instead, she’s handing out rumours.,

This is the age where elders pour guidance, 

But instead, she’s pouring poison and calling it conversation.

She’s not curious. She’s scanning.

Scanning rooms, Scanning faces, Scanning joy.

Looking for happiness to interrupt, peace to disturb, laughter to report back to headquarters.

And the wild part? She thinks it makes her important.

As if relevance is built by tearing others down.

As if staying mentioned, even negatively, is better than being forgotten.

As if being the common denominator in chaos is some sort of achievement badge.

It’s actually tragic, when you think about it.

At 49, still auditioning for relevance.

Still needing an audience.

Still mistaking attention for significance.

Because here’s the lesson no one sat her down to learn:

People who are fulfilled don’t gossip.

People who are at peace don’t hunt.

People who have grown don’t need victims to feel visible.

So while others her age are resting into themselves,                                                       she’s pacing, Mentally unemployed, spiritually noisy, desperately flipping through mental files labelled “Who’s Next?”

And me?

I watch.

I clock it.

And then I exit.

Because I don’t argue with people fighting irrelevance.

I don’t compete with unhealed timelines.

I don’t wrestle with almost-50 and still confused.

I let them talk.

I let them sit.

I let them exhaust themselves.

And I move forward, lighter, quieter, freer.

Because nothing is more humbling than watching someone gossip themselves into irrelevance… while you live well, in peace, unbothered and 😊😁😊😊😊😁

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