I'll be turning 50 in less than 30 days.  So, it's "Almost 50 and Counting...", but that blog name was already taken.  I chose "The Other Side of Halfway There," because I really feel that this upcoming milestone is a turning point in my life.   I'm halfway to the end of it.  And I want to write about it.

It's a bit cliche now, I know, but I am starting to feel that "peace" that I've heard so many Baby Boomers ahead of me speak of.
There is a bit of peace in knowing that a lot of hard years are behind you.  But, having recently experienced five years of financial horror (bankruptcy, foreclosure - you get the picture), I am not so quick to say that bad times won't return again.  You suffer enough times, long enough, and you realize that you are certainly not immune, and that, yes, bad things do happen more than once.

The years between 38-44 were easy for me.  My husband made plenty of money.  I had the luxury of being able to stay home and raise my kids.  I was able to be "team mom," and both shuttle the kids to their various activities and stay and cheer.  I never had to miss a game.  I had the privilege of being able to help in the classroom and supervise homework. I had time for myself, too.  I nurtured friendships by playing bunko and tennis, and I was a member of three book clubs. I was truly living the good life.

Then, bad things happened in our business, and during the ages from 44-49 I had to learn to redefine my role.  I eased back into work by working for my husband.  It was a relatively easy transition because I didn't have to dress up, go to an office, sit at a desk all day.  I worked when and where I wanted.  But his business wasn't my "passion," and we weren't making any money.  The old life stay-at-home life spoiled me.  I wasn't ready to settle for a minimum wage job working 9-5 for an annual income that would amount to no more than two installments of our house payment.

I vented my frustrations by writing a novel about one of our "business misadventures."  It sold with high praise to my friends and family.  I netted about $300 on my first royalty check.  I was proud.  Until a (now) former friend, upon hearing about my "haul," pointed her finger in my face and told me "I needed to get a fucking job." Her words, not mine.  (What?  I can't live off $300??)

Harsh.  So, I answered her by writing another novel.  This one was better, more polished, and not about me.  But it sold fewer copies than my first one, and my royalties were far below $300.  This was no way to make a living, and maybe my old friend was right.  I needed to get my ass off my chair and start "working," for real.

By now, as I crested 49 years, we were seriously under water, and my husband's business wasn't looking any better.   I pulled out my dusty Real Estate License, picked a broker, and began to really work.  I trained for about 6 months, took my first listing, sold my first house, then I got the bug.

But did I??  I have sold 4 homes in less than 6 months.  Partially due to good luck (not saying my client's divorce was good luck, but you know what I mean...) and partially due to an upswing in the market, but still.  It felt good to make money - real money - and I understood what that bitchy ex-friend meant when she "implored" me to find work.

But still...

I'm in a comptemplative mood, and thus this blog.

Follow me to read about life of a soon-to-be-1/2-Century Woman, and her continuing saga as she gallops gracefully into that setting sun for the LAST 50 years of her life...

Stay Tuned!