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"  There&amp;#039;s a story I love to tell. It takes place a little more than 13 years ago, on the day of my friend&amp;#039;s daughter&amp;#039;s 3rd birthday. My friend Gwen was sick on the couch with her second pregnancy, and she asked me to pick up Anya from preschool. I came with a stuffed monkey, a big hug, and a promise of ice cream and the playground. Anya rejected all of it. She also rejected turning 3. &amp;quot;I&amp;#039;m 2,&amp;quot; she insisted, and marched home ahead of me in a huff.   At the time, I thought Anya was just rejecting me and wanting her mom on her birthday (fair enough)\u2014but on my 50th, I think it may have been something more. It may have been a mini existential crisis.  What is 3? For Anya, being 3 meant sisterhood, sharing her parents, adjusting to a new status in her growing family\u2014change. Even months before the arrival of her brother, Anya could see being 3 with the clear gaze of the doomed. Her life had already altered, and her only-dog status was undeniably a thing of the past.   Fast-forward to the occasion of my 50th birthday. First, an apology: I get it now, Anya\u2014sorry it took so long. And now for my own existential crisis.  What is 50? I&amp;#039;ve been pondering this question for years now, hoping for an answer. No such luck\u2014today I&amp;#039;m in a teary funk, stuck in a tangle of meaning. But whose? Let&amp;#039;s look at how some of my peers faced 50:  For his half-century, my husband wanted to do absolutely nothing. I asked why, but he didn&amp;#039;t know. So I ignored him. I threw him and his twin brother a big party\u2014lovely food and wine with every friend we could round up. We danced a bit and toasted (and roasted). Guests brought the music, at my request. Peter smiled gratefully, and even managed a few genuine laughs; but, in the end, he wasn&amp;#039;t happy. The roomful of dear old friends and their dear old stories (and music) reminded him of time and people passed. That, it turned out, was the &amp;quot;why&amp;quot;\u2014suddenly crystal clear. For Peter, 50 meant loss, and it produced quite a funk.  A few months later, we hopped a plane, a bus, and a wave-skipping speedboat to the edge of a Mexican rain forest to help another friend turn 50. There, we basked in near-naked silliness for a week. And even though Lori&amp;#039;s three teenage kids came along, they very kindly allowed us our booze-induced illusion of still being young(ish) and groovy (look at us, dancing in the jungle). Now this was also 50, thank goodness.  Recently, a friend challenged 50 (and a health concern) by summiting Mt. Kilimanjaro with his family and raising thousands of pledge dollars for charity. A monumental achievement, to say the least, and a bold, inspiring statement of strength: &amp;quot;This is 50!&amp;quot; he declared, from the top of the world.  More quietly, but no less impressive, a dear childhood pal pulled herself out of a middle-aged rut by starting a fitness regimen and completing a course at Harvard in order to join her husband in an ambitious business enterprise. Fifty: a new beginning.  And so it is.  A place to start  An expectation to defy  An accumulation of delight  And loss  But, really, doesn&amp;#039;t that describe every age? So what changes at 50? In my case\u2014unlike Anya&amp;#039;s 3\u2014not much. Or at least not much that I know. I do hope to complete a half marathon in February; that would be new. But this evening, like most others, I&amp;#039;ll make dinner, snuggle with my beautiful girls and Peter (who surprised me with a party last week\u2014it was fun!), and try to get in a good giggle before day&amp;#039;s end. Now, I think I&amp;#039;ll just dry my existential tears and get on with it. Randall de S\u00E8ve is a writer and educator living in New York. She&amp;#039;s had a half-century&amp;#039;s worth of ups and downs; and she intends to have another. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.redbookmag.com/life/mom-kids/news/a16530/randall-de-seve-on-turning-50/>