On Turning 50

For a few days now I have been wondering what to write about this particular time in my life – you know, the big 5-0. I’ve been thinking about my accomplishments, my goals, and what I am particularly proud of - but didn't know quite how to start.

Then just the other day I came across a comment on Facebook written to a woman who I hadn’t seen since elementary school. The woman who wrote it (let’s call her “Hanna”) was a cheerleader in high school and doesn’t really know me at all except for what she saw at our reunion a couple of years ago. She was responding to a query made by this old elementary friend as to who I was, as she did not recognize the change in the spelling of my name.

Hanna wrote, “Hi Julie, I noticed your comment about Rhan Wilson. He was Ron Wilson, and just a heads up....he's a little weird. He did all the photography for our all class reunion and lets just say he'a a little out there.”

Normally I would take this as a compliment, as I did when my art teacher at Cabrillo College called me weird when she saw my silkscreen of a gorilla with country western hair called “Barbara Mandrill”. Or when my real friends tell me that I am weird in a joking manner.

No, this was different. This felt like a gossipy girl-to-girl warning about me.

Why would she think I am weird? Was it because I wore a toupee, top hat, fur cape, gold chains, and an open silken pirate shirt to the reunion? I thought that was funny – you see, I was going as “Mid-life crisis man”. You know how in all the sitcoms (and, I guess in real life) it seems that the middle aged men worry about their hair and their beer bellies? Well, I thought I would see how many cliches I could cram into one outfit and I did it!

And how did she even notice me anyway? Like another cliché, she was pretty busy making out with her old high school boyfriend and letting him sign her bra - she didn’t even bother to take it to a private corner or beneath the bleachers. No, she just popped her tight pink sweater up right there in middle of everyone.

Personally, I think that could have been described as weird. So what? I don't go around warning her friends that she is as easy as a Monday crossword. (oh no he di'nt!)

You know what else was weird about that reunion?

In the weeks leading up to it, our reunion website that I was helping with got a lot of emails from an alumni that clearly wasn’t all together. He was excessively excited about the upcoming reunion, a multi year concept that he had actually introduced to us all. His many not always so helpful emails and guestbook entries bothered the women (one of them also a cheerleader) to the point that they wanted all mention of him erased. I resisted doing that which infuriated them to no end.

He wasn’t doing any harm (it turns out he suffers from schizophrenia), and if it’s really supposed to be a reunion, where we get to see who we have all become in the spirit of harmony and acceptance… heck, who am I kidding? The reunion was about the popular girls running around together picking on the weirdos. They banned him from attending and made jokes about him forgetting to take his meds. This is how we unite old friends? By allowing only the "normal" ones to attend?

And if all this I am writing seems to be about me venting - well, it is a little I will admit, but it also makes clear how thankful I am to be who I am – weird and proud of it, because with the weird comes creativity, and with the creativity comes the manifestation of what I have been wanting my whole life: to make a living being creative and musical.

Clearly, I didn’t make it as a rock star as I had wanted to be when I was in high school, but I now realize I wouldn’t have wanted to play that game for long anyway. I want success on my terms.

Yes, I am happy to be recording with grammy nominees, collaborating with famous New York street performers, producing recordings with talented singer/songwriters, developing comedy shows, and realizing the success of my silly little project, “An Altared Christmas.”

I am also happy to be with my partner - someone who I easily imagine being with forever.

And though many of my old friends have come and gone, I have encountered the Ukulele Club of Santa Cruz which has given me unlimited amount of joy and many wonderful new, real friends. 

So I guess in a way I am glad that “Hanna” felt the need to warn my old friend about me. My old friend writes me all the time now (she didn't buy into the gossip), as do a few good folk I reunited with at the reunion. 

Thanks “Hanna” for reminding me who I am and even more importantly, who I don’t ever want to be. Just as I strive to open as many metaphorical doors and windows as possible, taking walks with the idea of saying hello to everyone I pass, and to be all that I can be (in the non-army way) - I constantly remind myself to have as much understanding and compassion for others as possible - even cheerleaders, because you never know what their personal story is.

Yes, this Santa Cruz boy is gonna keep on keepin’ on.

Now that I’m fifty, I feel as if I have just given myself unconditional permission to push my comfort zone as far as possible, and then some.

Weird? You ain’t seen nothin’ yet!

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Note: I apologize for my hypocrisy. While preaching tolerance and acceptance, I then go and refer to these particular people as "cheerleaders" as if that was a bad thing. I use that term for two reasons: one, because they were actually cheerleaders in school - you know, "We got spirit yes we do. We got spirit, how 'bout you!" And two, to conjure up all the television stereotypes of ex-cheerleaders because up until recently, I didn't think those cliches were real. 

But even that is okay. I can't care if people gossip. I've done it, I regrettably admit. I'm doing it right now. I've even looked at others and muttered, "Losers!" from time to time (mostly while driving), and I have even made fun of others. 

I am human and have made many mistakes. I only hope that I can start to make less of them, or at least make new ones, as opposed to repeating the same ones over and over.

(And by the way, I immediately wrote to Hanna, told her that I was sure she was kidding about me being weird, and would she be my Facebook friend.

She has not responded.)