I turned twenty in Amsterdam. Heineken Brewery offered free Delft Blue birthday mugs with proof of Passport. I can’t remember anything else I did that day to commemorate leaving my teens behind, aside from quaffing a beer surrounded by a few of my study abroad friends. Celebrating a new decade abroad, in itself, is none too shabby.

My thirtieth was spent in the company of a dozen gal pals, one of whom threw me a surprise party. The gifts all bore a certain theme. One present was wrapped in “Over the hill” paper. Another friend bequeathed me salt and pepper shakers, a foreboding token for what I could expect would happen to my locks. Indeed, I sprouted considerably more gray hair as the decade rolled along.

Forty arrived on a gloriously sunny day. I organized my own birthday potluck picnic at Gasworks Park. Although, ‘fear of forty’ was rampant amongst my peers, I was decidedly hopeful. Whereas my twenties were chaotic and my thirties direction-less, I felt my forties held certain promise. My personal goals were clearer – find a good man, marry him and have a baby. Professionally, I’d amassed a bit of clout in my field and had direction. I assumed success and satisfaction were soon to follow.

Here I stand on the precipice of fifty, just one week away. I’ve been reflecting a fair amount on the decade past and the decade I’m about to enter.

As it turns out, I did realize some of the milestones I’d longed for in my forties, though somewhat later in the decade than I’d originally envisioned. Big Papa and I met when I was forty-five and married when I was forty-eight.

My career success and satisfaction really turned a corner when I finally allowed myself to leave the unhappy path I’d been on and direct my gaze toward my true passions, writing and photography. I was just a year shy of fifty when I found the courage, and had Big Papa’s support, to make this leap.

As for the baby I’d hoped for, I’ll be carrying that dream into the next decade. With any luck, I’ll be a mom at 50-something, the age when most become empty-nesters or grandparents.

Truth be told, there are days when I think I must be losing my marbles to consider tackling all this in my fifties. And while I can thank my mom and dad for passing down good genes in the aging department, when I look in the mirror, I know 30-something is long gone.

That said, I am without a doubt, happier than I’ve ever been in my life. I work out hard and I’m in better shape than I was decades ago. I know myself better and I’m much more courageous about going after what I want. My life is infinitely more balanced and is guided by my values and what truly matters.

When my friend Dee turned fifty, last October, I asked her how it felt. She said, “Great! I’ll take fifty, fifty-one, whatever I can get.” She died, just two months later, after succumbing to a brave decade-long battle with breast cancer.

As I mourned her passing, I vowed to welcome fifty with all my heart and soul. And fifty-one. And fifty-two. Whatever I can get! And so on that note, I respectfully bid adieu to my forties and open the door to what the next decade may bring.