Age is just a number: Mr. Stinky Feet looks at 50 and smiles

Today is my birthday. My 50th trip around the sun.

You can call it the new 40, or the new 30, or the new black. You can call it whatever you want, but it’s still 50.

I really don’t know what all the fuss is about. I’m just a day older than I was yesterday. No biggie. And, as with every other day, I’m thrilled to be alive.

It seems that no matter your age, people try to attach some significance to the number.

As young parents, we were warned about the terrible twos and threes, which weren’t so terrible after all. Yes, there were tantrums and challenges, but there was so much more laughter and joy.

Now we’ve been put on high alert about the tumultuous tweens and rebellious teens that are just around the corner. But I refuse to fret about it, because I might just miss the awesomeness of it all.

And growing up, we all experienced days when we wished we could fast-forward. There was magic in the promise of being older.

You dreamed of being 16 so you could drive. You wished for 18, when you’d be an official “adult.” You longed for 21, so you could drink. Then you wished you were 18 again, so you didn’t have to pay rent. At 30, you pretended to be 29. At 40, you wished you were 30 with a full head of hair. At 50, you wished you were 40-anything, just because it’s less than 50. This goes on until one day, decades later, you’re lying in a hospital bed wishing you had spent less time worrying and more time living.

All of this fretting and twisting of reality is just a symptom of our discontent with living in the present. We squander the wonder of today with daydreams of some future happiness, or we long for a past that we’ve whitewashed to perfection.

But if we could just approach life as kids do, then we wouldn’t have time for all of our crazy making. Kids are too busy laughing and chasing butterflies.

One of my life’s many gifts is to have spent the past 17 years working with kids. I’ve met just as many wise 5-year-olds as I have wise adults. And it was the kids who started calling me “Mr. Stinky Feet.” It’s difficult to take yourself too seriously with a name like that.

Following their example of joy and enthusiasm for life, I know that when I allow myself to be more childlike (not childish) then life is a whole lot more interesting and enjoyable.

To quote my friend Barney, who did not live to see 50 but who knew all about being childlike and celebrating life, “There is no occasion more special than the one we are having right now.”

So, with his nudge, I’m standing firmly in the present and embracing it. Today is the only day I’ll ever turn 50, and I plan to celebrate.

This story was originally published April 27, 2015 at 2:00 AM with the headline "Age is just a number: Mr. Stinky Feet looks at 50 and smiles."