Things I Thought I’d Have Figured Out by 54

Growing up, I thought I had a pretty solid understanding of how life worked.

There was a checklist.

Graduate high school.

Maybe go to college.

Get a job.

Get married.

Have kids.

Work for approximately 147 years.

Retire.

Become oddly interested in birds.

The End.

That was pretty much the blueprint, right?

Nobody really talked about what happens when the blueprint gets wet, somebody spills coffee on it, you accidentally set one corner on fire and eventually say, “Screw it. I didn’t like that floor plan anyway.”

Because my life did not exactly follow the brochure.

I got married.

I had two daughters.

I went to college while I was on active duty and raising those two daughters because apparently I enjoy doing things on the easiest setting available.

I had a career.

I retired from the military.

I got divorced.

Twice.

There were relationships. Moves. Jobs. Detours. Reinventions. A few questionable decisions that probably deserve their own warning labels.

And now I’m 54.

So…

Now what?

Seriously.

Where is the next checklist?

Because I feel like I’ve reached the part of adulthood nobody really explained.

My girls are grown.

I’ve already had careers.

I’ve already been married.

I’ve already done the whole build a life with someone thing.

Twice, actually.

⭐⭐ Would not necessarily recommend the sequel.

And yet, somehow, The End isn’t the end.

Not even close.

I have SO much I still want to do.

I want to travel the world. 🌎

I want to experience the experiences.

Not just see things. Experience them.

I want to eat food I can’t pronounce. Sit in cafés ☕️ in places I’ve never been. Get lost somewhere beautiful. Meet people whose lives look absolutely nothing like mine.

I want stories. 📚

I want ridiculous adventures.

I want to say, “Well, THIS seemed like a good idea at the time…” at least another hundred times before I’m done.

And here’s something else I’ve realized:

I’m not looking for a relationship.

There. I said it.

And strangely, even typing that feels like I’m supposed to immediately explain myself.

Because when you’re single at this age, people seem to assume there are only two possibilities:

You’re looking for someone.

Or you’re devastated that you don’t have someone.

But what if you’re neither?

What if you’re just…living?

I’m not anti-relationship.

I’m not bitter.

I’m not standing on a mountaintop screaming, “I NEED NO MAN!” while releasing doves into the sunset.

If I meet someone someday and think, Well, shit. I like this one, fantastic.

But I’m not looking.

I don’t want my next adventure to be finding a relationship.

I want my next adventure to be my life.

And maybe that’s one of the things I thought I’d have figured out by 54.

I thought I’d know exactly what came next.

Turns out, I don’t.

And for probably the first time in my life…

I’m kind of excited about that.

There isn’t another prescribed milestone waiting for me.

No next box I’m supposed to check.

No timeline telling me where I should be.

No finish line I’m racing toward.

I get to decide.

Maybe that’s what nobody tells you about this age.

You’re not starting over.

You’re not waiting for the next chapter someone else wrote for you.

You finally have a mostly blank page and enough life experience to know you don’t have to fill it with what everybody else expects.

So no, I haven’t figured everything out by 54.

Thank God.

Because I have places to go.

People to meet.

Experiences to experience.

Stories to collect.

And probably at least a few more spectacularly questionable decisions to make.

Turns out, “The End” was just where they stopped giving us instructions.