Turning 50 has a way of quietly changing the conversation you have with yourself.
For many of us, it’s the
first time we realize we are closer to the end of life than the beginning. Not dramatically
or gloomily, but in a practical, honest one. You start to look back and take
stock. For what did I hope? What did I actually do? And what, if anything,
still feels unfinished?
For some people, that
reflection feels unsettling. For others, it feels oddly freeing. For me, it
became an invitation to rewrite the script.
When I turned 50, I made a
decision that surprised a few people around me. I enrolled in a Master’s of
Education program, focusing on how computers should be taught in schools. At
the time, I didn’t frame it as a bold reinvention. I simply followed a question
that wouldn’t let go. Schools were changing, technology was changing, and I
wanted to understand how teaching needed to change with it.
That one step opened more
doors than I ever expected.
After I graduated, the Ministry of Education
asked me to help create a new computer curriculum from Kindergarten through
Grade 12. Suddenly, I found myself working alongside curriculum experts,
educators, and policy thinkers. For a full year, we debated not just what students
should learn, but how learning itself should look in a rapidly changing world.
What shifted for me wasn’t
just my résumé. It was my perspective.
I still worked in a school,
but I no longer saw teaching only through the walls of a classroom. I began to
see education as a system, a living thing shaped by culture, policy, values,
and imagination. That change in perspective quietly altered my attitude toward
my colleagues, my work, and even myself. I felt more liberated, more curious,
more willing to explore ideas beyond my usual lane.
That sense of freedom showed
up in my teaching. My lessons became more adventurous. I was more open to
collaboration and risk. I started saying yes to conversations and opportunities
that, earlier in my career, I might have dismissed as unrealistic or “not for
someone like me.”
At one point, I even put
together a team and bid on a contract to revamp an entire country’s curriculum
from K to 12. We didn’t get the contract, but we were the runners-up. Years
earlier, I wouldn’t have dared to imagine myself in that role. At 50, it felt
possible, even natural, to try.
Redefining success gave me
the courage to apply for a position at an international university. To my
surprise and gratitude, I was successful. I went on to help create programs
that trained teachers how to teach teachers. That sentence still makes me smile.
It wasn’t part of any life plan I’d written in my thirties, but it fit
perfectly with the person I had become.
Looking back now, I can see
that redefining success was the most important first step in preparing for
retirement ten years later.
Success stopped being about
titles, routines, or staying on a predictable path. It became about alignment.
Did my work feel meaningful? Did it energize me? Was I learning, contributing,
and staying curious? Those questions mattered more than climbing any particular
ladder.
Many of my readers are what
I call “young seniors.” You may not be thinking about retirement yet. You may
still be busy holding things together, careers, families, responsibilities, and expectations. But somewhere in the background, a quieter question may be
forming: Is this still the life I want to be building?
Redefining success doesn’t
require dramatic change. It doesn’t mean walking away from everything you’ve
built. Often, it starts with noticing where your definition of success came
from in the first place, and whether it still fits.
Over the next five posts I will explore some ideas that I should have looked at more deeply when I turned 50. In the next post, I’ll
explore what happens when we begin to loosen our grip on old identities. The
roles we’ve carried for decades don’t disappear overnight, and letting go can
be emotional work. But it’s also where new space begins to form.
This is not a series about
endings. It’s a series about possibility, and about giving yourself permission
to write the next chapter with intention.
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