They're a lot of us out there

I just finished 'Three Dog Life' by Abigail Thomas.
It was a sad, contemplative look at her marriage to a man who had suffered a serious brain injury 4 years previously. She spoke in a familiar voice, like a friend who knows you well enough to share the dreary minutia of her day and is able to handle your honest compassion. She especially loved her three dogs who sleep with her at night, providing quiet companionship and stinky breath. It made me think a lot about aging and illness, and what we all face eventually; the loss of our strength physically and the silent echo of limited time.

It occurred to me that there must be an army of women on the cusp of 49 and 50 who feel the need to reflect, pause, and restart. Like the 100k rollover on a trusty, rugged and faithful car, we want to be certified for another 100k, but the driving conditions are riskier, and the driver's eyesight is less than 20/20.

How do we define who we are at 50 when we've always been"young"? If I was 'pretty' in my youth, what am I at 50 ? Handsome? Invisible?

If I am strong at 50 will that protect me from frailty, or do bones snap just a readily as you cycle into the headwinds? Can I rest a little more and not feel lazy and underachieving?

What matters now, what doesn't. Is there a place for me in the line up of credible witnesses? Will I become a fine roux, reduced by evaporation to distilled perfection?