You know you’re getting old when you start to think in terms of decades. And my life has been a long one thus far. I’m turning fifty in a couple of months, and it’s not easy looking back and realizing that I’ve lived for half a century. I’ve experienced so many things, both good and bad, and don’t really know what the future holds. Then again, no one does.

As a wise man once said, “Always in motion, the future is.”

Over the past fourteen years, I’ve built a successful writing career. Well, successful is quite a subjective term, as success can be viewed in so many ways. In my case, the bills are always paid, and I have a few extra bucks each month for minor things here and there. Food is in our stomachs, and the Internet is fiber. So, to me, that is success. I don’t drive around in a Bugatti or live in a million-dollar home. But what I have is growing credit, surrounded by people who support me, and aspirations of doing more with my life…even at fifty.

Every morning, I am reminded of how old I am getting. The reflection in the mirror is a testament to history. My history. The beard is graying, the eyes have wrinkles, and most of my joints pop as I brush my hair. I’ve been on both sides of life and death. I’ve been the owner of great businesses making six figures, and I’ve slept in the back of broken-down cars in the middle of winter. Throughout all of these things, life kept marching on.

When it was suggested to me that I should return to school, I somewhat scoffed at the idea. After all, I’ve been living the life I wanted since 2012. What more could I ask for than what I was currently doing every week? Would a degree actually matter as more than mere bragging rights at this point, and something to show in the background of my YouTube channel? Besides, I felt as though my age would be a hindrance.

College is a young person’s game, right?

Fears such as forgetting grow with each passing week. What if I forget everything I learned while in college? I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast three days ago. And what kind of job would I land as someone quickly approaching retirement age? How much use would I actually get out of a degree? I set all of those questions aside and focused on a single benefit of getting a master’s degree in creative writing…

Bragging rights.

That’s only because I didn’t think I would get more out of the experience than just boosting a bit of my knowledge. Well, aside from a master’s degree helping me one-up my dad, who constantly flaunts his BA. I would be the first in my family to progress past a bachelor’s program. I already had the career I wanted, so what actual difference would a degree, or even a series of degrees, make?

In reality, my thoughts on my age slowed me down some. I’m no spring chicken, and more like a three-day-old rotisserie with rubbery skin. It didn’t help that I did the math and figured that I would earn enough credits for a bachelor’s degree by 2036 as a part-time student. That meant I would be in my sixties by the time I earned the first degree.

After interviewing a few authors for the channel, I began to realize that my age really didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. One gentleman was approaching seventy by the time he earned his master’s. But what really helped set things in motion was remembering that I am only one month older than Ryan Reynolds. And if he can still play Deadpool, then why can’t I do more than just be a freelancing, self-published author? Of course, that was also assuming that I would live that long. Considering the things I’ve been through and experienced, I am quite impressed that I’ve lived to see 49 thus far.

Tetanus, West Nile, blood poisoning twice, secondary polycythemia, and a host of other complications make you question mortality. Hell, I’m Gen X; at any point, I could have been killed by any number of dumb things we did as kids, such as swooshing down a dirt hill and onto a roadway on a metal sled.

At any rate, I enrolled in college and braced myself for the long slog of getting a degree that I didn’t think I really needed. But something changed within that first month or two. Sure, my writing experience helped me sail through the first couple of classes. Essentially, they were rehashing everything I’ve been doing professionally for over a decade. Yet, there was something different about being in class for the first time in more than 30 years. I felt like I was where I was supposed to be. It’s kind of hard to describe the feeling, but it’s like returning home after being away for an extended period of time. It was that relaxation you feel after spending hours upon hours on the road.

When I started to register for classes, that’s when everything really changed in my mind. I found myself getting…excited…for what was to come. I’ve always been a proponent of furthering one’s education in any way possible. So, to sit down and see all of the classes that were available, I found myself wanting more. It was no longer a fleeting thought about maybe learning a few new things to help me write better books. It was like someone had opened a secret door to a whole new world that I never imagined existed. And I swear I could faintly hear angels singing in the background. Then again, it could have been the tinnitus. Regardless, it was like a new fire had been lit under my ass for doing far more than I could possibly imagine. And after the first semester of school, I made the decision that I’m going to keep going until I earn a PhD.

I’m in it for the long haul.

As I continue my education, my age has become less of a “hindrance” and more of a benefit. Yes, I am often the oldest kid in the class. But instead of thinking of myself as old, I have shifted my mindset to “experienced.” And it’s that experience that has helped me get a few good grades, considering I’ve been doing the work in real life for nearly two decades.

At the end of the day, there are a variety of things in this world that it’s never too late to experience more. Now, do I think I should lose some weight and try out as a running back for the Denver Broncos? No. But that’s because I’m also realistic. The training regimen for football players would probably kill me. However, there are a lot of things in this world that anyone can still do regardless of age. I might not ever get to fly in a space shuttle, but I can still write about the journey using my imagination and what I’ve learned about space. 

So, let’s leave it at that: it’s never too late to try, as long as you’re being realistic with yourself. Trying out for a trapeze act in Cirque du Soleil, maybe not. Working toward becoming a college professor of anthropology, not unrealistic with hard work.

The only time it will ever be too late is if you completely give up. But as long as there is any glimmer of hope within you, there is always a chance. You are the only one standing in your way, and all it takes is maximum effort to accomplish much in life. Don’t sit at home, trying to manifest good things to arrive at your doorstep. Step outside of your comfort zone and move yourself forward. No one else will do it, well, unless you’re confined to a wheelchair at 90 because your legs gave up.

But even then, you can always tell the orderly where to push.