The other night I found myself watching the movie “Deep Impact.” It’s one of those 90’s super-action films about the demise of earth thanks to a raging comet the size of Texas. Tia Leoni starred as the blonde news anchor who would serve as the steady “constant” to Americans as they waited to hear updates about their pending doom.  The movie was absurdly entertaining. The 90’s fashion was brilliant. Tia’s pant suits: silk, pleated, baggy. I mean, who doesn’t look good in baggy, pleated pants?  That’s right…NO ONE!  How were pleated pants a thing?

But I digress.

I had come back from a run to find Abby and my sister curled up on the couch watching this flick. So, I sat on the floor to stretch and found myself instantly sucked in. I will admit that I wrongly assumed my Hollywood crush, Dwayne The Rock (studman) Johnson would be in the film. Let’s not forget his heroism in the movie San Andreas. The man drove a helicopter and a boat to save his ex-wife, daughter and some cute British boy from the 9.7 magnitude earthquake that killed just about everyone in San Francisco. And his biceps, did I mention his biceps? I really want to touch them. Just once. I’ve never seen muscles like that up close. I wonder if he could crack open a walnut by flexing?

Again I digress…

There was a line in the movie that has stuck with me for days. In this one scene the President was explaining to the American people that a lottery system would be used to select the lucky bastards who would be transported to an underground cave where they would survive and stay for several years…you know, after the comet destroyed all life on earth (who writes this shit?).  And here’s the line that stung me like a raging hormonal bee: “No one over the age of 50 will be entered into the lottery.”

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?

Wait a minute? So…like in 3 years if a comet threatens to destroy earth, me and my dried up ovaries are left for dead? Well isn’t that a fine how do you do!

Now, you might be saying to yourself “Lighten up, Shell. It’s only fiction.”  But here’s the thing. It’s not “only” fiction.  It’s true. At 50 you get your AARP card. Imagine that. You celebrate your 50^th birthday, which you’ve most likely psyched yourself up for. You probably told yourself that “Life begins at 50”. That “50 is the new 30.” That this is your time to live! So, you get your hair done. You take yourself out to dinner…you flirt with some 30-year-old stud at the bar because…well, it’s your birthday damn it. All in all you feel rather pleased with yourself.  Then, later that evening, after downing a few Tums you sort through your mail to find a birthday card from those fine folks at the AARP. “Congratulations, you are now entitled to all the benefits that come with being a senior:”  Early bird specials, free shoe rentals at the local bowling alley, discounted movie tickets (but only for the 4 pm shows). And free coffee at the local diner. Live it up, bitches! Woot!

I’ve never really been a super drama queen about age. I didn’t do anything big when I turned 40. I didn’t whine about it or demand some epic getaway. I didn’t take myself to New York to bang prostitutes, for example. Uh…er…sorry, I may have been projecting there just a bit. Grr…

I really do need to get to the point. My point is this: How the heck did I get to be 47? And…why is 50 considered too old to be saved from an earth-destroying comet? I feel like I’ve got a whole life ahead of me. A new life…the second chapter, if you will.  But what? If a giant comet comes for us, I couldn’t possibly bring value to the generation hand selected to rebuild the human race? Who will teach these breeding machines valuable lessons like how to properly prepare a Thanksgiving turkey? Or, that the best chardonnay really does come from Napa? Or, the really important lessons like “your heart will break, over and over again. But you will survive it all.”  Or the importance of listening and learning from the people who have already been there. Who will be their Mr. Miyagi? Who will teach them to Wax On?

I have spent a lot of time this summer writing about all kinds of things…and woven throughout all of the stories I’m crafting is a constant theme: evolution.  I keep learning things in this life, I keep growing. In my mid-40’s I’ve learned some of the most valuable lessons of my life.  I’ve learned how to be alone. I’ve learned that I am resilient. I’ve learned that I am capable of failing at love over and over again and surviving it all while STILL remaining a hopeless romantic. I’ve learned that I can move on. I’ve learned that I’m smart…but not all the time..and I’ve learned that I still have plenty to learn. I’ve also learned that people will judge me harshly for my choices, often unfairly…but that NONE of that will matter in the end. And I think these lessons are quite valuable…but now that I think about it, maybe they’re the kind of lessons that can’t be taught. So maybe Morgan Freeman (Deep Impact President) was right in drawing the conclusion that the most valuable humans to the future of the race are those under the age of 50 (sigh).

I’ll be 53 when Abby heads off to college. And…sadly, another lesson I’ve learned is that time passes quickly. Abby’s first day of college will be here in the blink of an eye. So between now and then I will hold on to her with a kung fu grip. It’s hard to imagine what my life will be like when she’s out of the house. I can barely write that thought without losing my shit.

What I choose to do with my life at 53, remains a bit of a mystery to me. Maybe I’ll move to the Cape? Maybe I’ll finally get a place in Manhattan? Maybe I’ll move to France? New Zealand? Croatia? Or, maybe I’ll just stay here…holding on to the memories and waiting to die. HA!!! Kidding of course. Trust me, after I pull away from the pristine, ivory adorned campus of Harvard, waving goodbye to my smart, over-achieving, beautiful daughter, I will be off to begin my own adventure. That much I know for sure.

But until then, I am going to do my best to keep evolving. And to not let the pending AARP card get me down. Perhaps I’ll celebrate my 50^th birthday by burning the damn thing, along with my wedding dress, photos and whatever else might still be lingering around from my past.

So…even though the very…ahem…talented writers of the movie Deep Impact see no value in life after 50, I will soldier on, enjoying my free cup of diner coffee while remaining steadfast in my belief that the best is yet to come.