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In eleven days, I’m turning fifty.

Am I, really? I guess I’ve been turning fifty for such a long time… Let’s see: I was born in 1963. March 25. So, yup, turning fifty in eleven days. How come I feel I’ve been turning fifty for at least a couple of years?

Maybe it’s because at first it seemed scary. Or unreal. After all, I’d been told by the doctors that my deadline (literally) was the 4th of July, 2010. As it turned out, it wasn’t. Another liberation day, just that.

The “I won’t live to be fifty, so let’s rock’n roll” became an eternal turning fifty until I am finally turning fifty for good.

Maybe this weird feeling is also because saying “I’m forty nine” or “I’m forty eight” doesn’t sound so… so whatever as “I’m FIFTY”. You know, “I’m FIFTY” sounds more fiftyish.

So here I am, turning fifty.

And I’m not afraid. Why should I be afraid? Good question. As a scientist, I decided to investigate why I should be afraid of turning fifty. Since I couldn’t find an answer inside me, I should seek it elsewhere – it is obvious that such fear has to come from somewhere. If it is not inside you, than it’s outside you. Which is worse: much scarier, since it is, after all, someone else’s fear.

I obtained the following answers:

–          Because it means you have lived more than half of your life (sounds pretty obvious and not a good reason to freak out)

–          Because it means you are closer to death (duhh)

–          Because you are getting older (no kidding)

–          Because you are getting uglier (really? Any special physiological reason this should be scarier at fifty than, let’s say, at forty five or fifty three? So let me see: prettier is younger, uglier is older? Interesting)

–          Because you won’t fuck anymore or you will fuck much less = > A-HA!!!

So dear ladies and gentlemen, THIS is why turning fifty scares the hell out of everyone: you are convinced death is going to come at night and start It’s job by castrating you. You will wake up not only older, but sexless!

Guess what? This is bullshit. At least I think it is: check again in eleven days.

Let’s get back to me being frozen at turning fifty for a couple of years. We have two good reasons for that: one is the medical prediction that I wouldn’t reach this age, which makes it as attractive as it is scary. The second is this vague disseminated fear in society, which we found out to be reducible to a fear of castration.

We freeze other ages. I think my daughter is 21 when she is actually turning 24. I think one of my best friends is 28 when he is actually 32. I think my sister is 45 when she is actually 10 years older than me. I froze my mom at 75.

Each frozen age has its reasons. At 75, my mom had the surgery where she suffered the results of the most common medical malpractice: she was not warned that she needed to not only maintain, but intensify her physical activity level and commit to strength training for life. That was the last I saw of the athlete my mom was while I grew up.

I froze myself at 42, when I died. And then I turned fifty, because I didn’t.

More later.