About eight or nine years ago, my partner Ed was participating in some jazz-singing workshops. Mind you, he was already a GREAT singer – the man had been on Broadway. Also, singing non-stop in a three-person touring act backing up bubbly Suzanne Somers of all people, and then later donning a cowboy hat, crooning tunes at country line dancing clubs across the Southwest.
My point being: the man has pipes and experience.
But this was a new twist, a more casual, just throw-it-away kind of singing. Counting in a live band while leaning on a piano – the kind of Great American Songbook style he’d always loved. Think Diana Krall. Mel Tormé or Julie London. “Strangers in the Night,” but without the Sinatra vibe of crooning every word or impressively hitting and holding those high notes.
This was more… casual, baby.
Slick.
Making choices, flirting with the audience, bringing your own style. It was, yes, that word I often fear: improvisational.
The workshops were led by a groovy-casual talented singer named Cathy Segal-Garcia, who’d done some recording and traveled the globe to perform. (She still does). With her stunning streaks of gray through her black hair, she exuded an approachable elegance and encouraging spirit. Ed loved her approach, her vibe.
Returning home one night after a workshop, he recounted a discussion between Cathy and one of the younger students that has stuck with me to this day.
Student: “Oh Cathy, how do you not get nervous in front of all those people?”
Cathy: “You know, when I turned 50, it changed. I finally stopped caring so much of what others think. I’m not doing it for them; I’m doing it all for me. It’s my fun.”
Ed: (to me): “And we could tell she really meant it and wasn’t just saying it. It showed.”
Me: (in my head): “Gosh, does it take that long, to age 50, to finally get to that point?!?”
I was about age 41 or 42 at the time, a tad naïve, judgmental, and spinning my wheels, always in my head. Yet, in the years since, I’ve witnessed a similar finding-of-self or arrival-at-self within a few close friends as they approached turning 50. It’s been uncanny.
— Energetic, dynamic Michele, who went from working in a real estate office to stumbling (right before my eyes) upon her true life passion, around age 48 – using her gorgeous speaking voice and empathy to narrate audio description tracks in movies and documentaries so the blind can also experience them fully. I was stunned how she claimed her space in that arena, becoming an advocate for the community, and gleefully saying, “I’ve finally found my passion, my true life’s work, my heart’s work.” And it’s the truth. You can see it radiating off of her anytime she talks about her next project.
— My hilarious pal, David Z., as I call him, spent years and years running all over LA and Hollywood like the best of us, networking, vying for that next great part, that springboard up the ladder of the biz, going from project to project, audition to audition – and being sooooo good, so funny, with some successes, sure. But in his mid to late 40s – (here we go again) – he was invited to teach workshops of inclusion for actors with disabilities – wheelchair-bound, deaf, blind, autistic, bipolar, social-emotional issues – the list was endless of those who’d been sadly designated as “other,” yet had that firm artistic fire burning within. As if the odds of the industry weren’t hard enough! It was humbling. Eye-opening. And inspiring.
And boy, did David find his purpose. He came alive, and his infectious energy touched students and inspired so many to reach their goals with dignity, to truly represent in Hollywood. He found forever-friends in Geri Jewell of The Facts of Life, Jamie Brewer of American Horror Story, Angela Rockwood of Push Girls, Mark Povinelli of Nightmare Alley and so many others. The man KNOWS people and is ADORED by all the perhaps once-debilitatingly-shy students he’s guided into authenticity and brilliance.
— A third pal, Robby, was in autopilot mode of avoiding confrontation at all costs, going out of his way to never rock the boat… thus denying his wants, getting near-ulcers, fretting. And presto, just before turning 50, a change. Now he’s thriving, firing on all cylinders, sexy-confident and out living life his way, pursuing his eclectic interests, non-stop.
I stood by, witnessing these beautiful transformations in the lives of three great friends and thought, whoa, I hope that finally happens to me… maybe that songstress was right.
And as I sit here now, in my late 40’s, firmly staring down the approaching freight train of 50, it IS happening to me too, like clockwork. There’s a brand-new sense of authenticity, a clarity of what I will and will not devote my important brain bandwidth and time to.
But before? Paralyzed with indecision. “I don’t deserve it.” Forever analyzing people’s possible reactions and opinions of me and my life. And now? Barely a blip – not important.
There’s a clarity. A contentment. Yes, I do enjoy voiceover and performing. But I’ve never found it to be “my calling” or purpose, per se. Being part of theater was, for sure, for a long, long time. It may be again someday, who knows? But with writing… it feels like I’ve stumbled upon that passion where hours fly by as I’m deeply challenged, yet focused and happy… feeling alive. Feeling true. An avocation.
It’s not saving the world, but it might add to it.
But wait, how much of this has to do with approaching 50, specifically? And how much – duh! – is just the wisdom of aging, period? Or maybe it’s just that unavoidable clarity that comes when we don’t have all the years in the world left.
It was super-frustrating in my 20s and 30s to encounter those ambitious, laser-focused souls who knew EXACTLY what they wanted, certain of every next step forward, who also BELIEVED they could do it. How cool to thrive and live those body-youthful years with the world rewarding your every move, affirming that you were on the right path, and then, that you’d arrived. To have the tools and the sense of self so early. For me, those were a long 25-30 years to live through, never feeling as confident or certain, not having a TRUE, this-world-is-for-me sense of self or belonging. Of claiming my place.
But I now AM for sure living my best years.
It’s about time, eh?
And some of those who had everything handed to them at a young age have been slapped in the face by life now, maybe never having had to struggle before, never experiencing the rejections and having the tools to now roll with the punches. The tricks of youthful beauty aren’t working as successfully in middle age.
So… they’re recreating themselves (hopefully), as I’m finally re-discovering myself.
It’s nice to be more at peace, to not have to snort and snicker and roll the eyes when some goody-two-shoes says, “Well, we’re all on our own timeline”… because I now know it’s true.
And to those of you young bucks afraid of turning 40, afraid of turning 50? I’m here to tell ya that it can indeed get even better.
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