I sold things on eBay and Craigslist, consigned clothing and accessories I no longer needed, furnished my home with secondhand items, and embraced the minimalist movement. You might be surprised at what sells on online sites. There was a local news story on how many bids a seller got for a pencil. You never know what item of yours that you no longer want or need is desirable to someone else.
I got several part-time jobs as a contract lawyer, worked at author events for an independent bookstore, and did freelance writing and editing. I even had an errand service as a side business for a while, and set up an Etsy shop online to sell some paintings I had done. I rented my home out on weekends via Airbnb and Vacation Rental by Owner (VRBO) to make some quick cash for traveling.
Then I did the soul-searching. What made me happy? Aside from my children, I was hard-pressed to say. I felt as if I had lost myself along the way. Pursuing 50 new things was part of my quest to find out who I was at my core and what made me happy.
The definition of happiness is debatable. In my youth, it meant pleasure and excitement. Those things can contribute to happiness, but I was looking for something less fleeting. At 50, happiness means contentment, serenity, peace. With some spice mixed in.
Some people call after-50 the “third third” of our lives. We are not dead yet! Numerous studies hail the benefits of remaining active and continuing to grow. I strive to learn something new every day. We all should.
Your list of 50 may be radically different from mine. These are the things that spoke to me, and not every one of them will appeal to you. And not every single thing I tried is something I care to repeat, like acupuncture, for instance.
The list includes activities and changes big and small. It is arranged thematically into the following groupings: (1) travel and adventure; (2) learning and teaching; (3) social activities; (4) physical challenges and well-being; (5) spiritual endeavors; (6) thrill-seeking ventures; and (7) lifestyle changes. I encourage you to try items from each category, to add variety, and to stimulate your mental, spiritual, and physical muscles. Make some changes. Realign your priorities. Shed what no longer serves you. Stay vibrant. We do not need to fade as we age.
My list is designed to inspire you, as it has with so many women with whom I have shared it. Challenge yourself, before life throws its next curve ball. You are worth it.
• 5 •
Travel and Adventure
My kids were away at school. My marriage was over. I had saved some money to get away. I assured myself that I was not running away, but running toward something—lessons, rich experiences, and finding out more about myself and the world at large. Travel—even to a new town a few miles away—always has led to mind expansion for me. It enriches; it increases empathy, tolerance, and understanding. It can make us even more grateful to have been born in the United States in situations of opportunity.
And I know how to travel on a shoestring budget. If you do not, there are plenty of books and websites dedicated to budget travel.1 To be the most successful at saving money while traveling, I need to have time to research discounts and deals. My research always has paid off. Flexibility to travel at nonpeak times or on short notice helps lower costs as well. And if one volunteers, the nonprofit organization often will pay for a significant percentage, if not all, of your costs.2
I have several female friends who have designed their careers and work so that it can be done from anywhere. As I write these words, my friend Chezzie Brungraber is hiking in the Swiss mountains with her baby and husband and working when they have Wi-Fi™. She arranged her work life so that she could work very hard on her business for part of the year and then travel for the rest of it. My friend Desiree Garcia travels around the country with her mobile healing massage services. In the last year, I have seen her—and enjoyed her massage services—at two yoga festivals. Her children are now grown and she can support herself with her work wherever she wants to be.3 Several former colleagues worked very long hours over a necessary period until they could retire early and see the world. This kind of life is possible with appropriate planning.
I greatly admire W. Kamau Bell’s chosen adventures. On his CNN documentary television show, United Shades of America, Bell explores communities that could not be more different from where he lives.4 He has visited Ku Klux Klan meetings, prisons for the most violent criminals, Native American reservations, and other unusual destinations. Through these forays, he and his viewers gain understanding about viewpoints that may differ vastly from our own.
While I was lucky to be able to travel to distant places, the lessons afforded by going to new places can be gleaned from near travel as well. A walk through an unfamiliar neighborhood, park, or city can bring excitement, stimulation, and increased understanding.
There are many more places in the world I want to see before I die. The beaches of Vietnam, the island of Mauritius, the Badlands of the western United States, the Burning Man annual village in the California desert, and the Canary Islands are among them. When compiling my 50 After 50 list, I had to start somewhere, and I made a large dent in my lifelong bucket list the year I turned 50. I used to research extensively before I visited somewhere new. Now, I build in more time to allow experiences to unfold. My daughter recently saw a sign in a Cambodian hostel that said something like, “Travelers see what they see; tourists see what they came to see.”
The point is to experience somewhere you have not before been and to take a break from your day-to-day life, to refresh and possibly reset it. Getaways do not have to be far away or expensive. Staycations can provide needed respite, and can be done in novel ways.5 TripAdvisor can help you find things nearby and provides other travelers’ reviews about any place that piques your interest.6 Airbnb has started connecting travelers with experience opportunities to try out in various areas, like guided tours, classes, games, tastings, photo shoots, picnics, shopping with professional stylists, and hikes.7 Let me know what you find.
1. Volunteer Vacation
The meaning of life is to find your gift.
The purpose of life is to give it away.
—Pablo Picasso
I needed space from my old life. I yearned to “get outta Dodge.” I was not seeking a geographical cure to my woes necessarily, but something more like a sabbatical—some distance, so that I could assess where I had been and where I wanted to go from here.
I went almost exactly to the other side of the world. I had wanted to experience some adventure and to do some good in the world. I settled on Nepal.
The trip started on an auspicious note. I got bumped up to first class, which had never before happened to me. I have never wanted to spend my money on added comfort while in transit, but now I know why people choose to do that.
The stars aligned when I befriended a woman who was the first Nepali woman to become a U.S. marine. Her relatives put me in contact with some schools in Nepal. One was in Kathmandu and one was in the poorest region of Nepal—Karnali. I volunteered at both of the schools. By comparison, the school in Kathmandu was posh. The students wore uniforms and there were books in the classrooms and inspirational posters on the walls. Some of the students were orphans. Most spoke English and looked well cared for. Those without parents lived in a nearby dormitory. A friend from home had adopted three of the young women and was paying for their expenses.
The second school was high in the mountains. We took a small plane to the only nearby town of Jumla. There was no security to speak of when passing through the airport. I was surprised to find a rooster sticking his head out of a box next to me. I was even more surprised when a tiny man stepped on board, saw that all seats were taken, then jumped on my guide’s lap for the trip. My guide was happy to oblige. Seat belts were optional.
I had come to Karnali with school supplies. We caught a jeep up a mud path riddled with large holes for a short portion of the journey. I left that harrowing ride in tears after t
eetering precariously along cliff edges. Because there was no road leading to the school, however, two of the parents from the village who came to welcome me carried the boxes of school supplies atop their heads. They nimbly navigated the miles of rocks and rugged uphill terrain that took me eight hours to hike up. No one would have described my hiking technique as nimble. . . .
I doubt I will ever forget the reception I received from the people in Karnali. They had never met a Westerner. A band of six drummers came down the path to meet me when I arrived at the school. The entire village came to the school to welcome me. I received dozens of wreaths of flowers, popcorn, and bundles of greens. I could barely see over my colorful adornments. Many speeches were made. A holy man blessed me with a crimson tika upon my forehead. It was surreal, humbling, and a bit embarrassing. I was no celebrity, after all. Yet they treated me as if I possessed some sort of magical power. Several mothers asked me to touch their infants.
The 120 students aged three to 14 lined up with palms together as if in prayer. We bowed to each other individually, saying “Namaste.” Despite their tattered clothing and open sores, they were achingly beautiful.
The school in Karnali lacked electricity, heat, and running water. Some of the children had no shoes, despite the snow on the ground. The floors of the classrooms were simply dirt, and the children sat on the floor for their lessons. I saw no books. Most of the teachers were volunteers. Some of the villagers said that the Nepali government had forgotten about that remote part of Nepal. It was hard to disagree.
I was struck by how happy the students were, despite their lack of creature comforts. I visited several of their homes for ginger tea, most of which afforded little respite from the harsh weather. One of the villagers put me up for the weeks I was there. Although neither my hosts nor I could speak each other’s language, we managed to communicate. We spent all of our free time huddled around the kitchen stove. There was no electricity or running water in their simple stone house. The guest of honor bed I was given consisted of a table covered by some blankets. The frozen outhouse was a place I tried to avoid, especially at night. Visits to the outhouse sometimes were complicated by whiteout snow conditions and the need to put one’s boots back on since no shoes are worn indoors. I stopped drinking fluids after 5:00 p.m.
The hosts insisted that we eat before they ate. They were reluctant to allow me to help with any home chores. After several weeks, the woman of the house allowed me to grind corn into cornmeal in their primitive grinder, and to milk the cows and feed the chickens.
I was made starkly aware of the many things I take for granted. Like mattresses. Heat. Socks. Napkins. Utensils. Toilet paper. Toothpaste. The majority of Himalayan people do not own toothbrushes or know much about oral care, I was told. I tried not to let the lack of sanitation upend me, though traveling here is certainly not for those accustomed to a posh lifestyle—or a lifestyle based on any sort of schedule. For example, a bus arrives at the closest town (a nine-hour hike away) once each day, but no one knows what time it will come on a given day. I learned how to have fewer expectations there.
I am forever changed by this experience. I kept the thin layer of privileged guilt and self-consciousness at bay, so that I could maintain a positive attitude while working and living there.
The villagers dreamed of building a library for the children of Karnali. One of the village’s residents walked across the country to Kathmandu, found a job washing dishes, put himself through college, and found a way to the United States, where he got a job as a translator. The villagers rightly regarded him as a hero. He and I met on several occasions in the United States and were able to raise enough funds to build a children’s library in Karnali.
I collected loads of books for the library after it was built. Government tariffs and complications prevented the books from being shipped and carried to the library. Someday, however, I will return to see this happy but forlorn village.
I made a small corner of the world a bit better because I was there. You can, too. And I am sure you do not have to go far to do that. Look online for a volunteer vacation,8 or in your community for a charitable endeavor, if you do not want to create one of your own. The point is that helping others helps us get out of ourselves. We gain perspective. We increase our self-esteem by doing esteemable acts.
I originally had hoped to enter the Peace Corps, after learning that retirees make up a large percent of its volunteer population, but my life circumstances do not allow for that at the present time. But with this one trip, my heart swelled with pride and a renewed sense of purpose.
What can you do to make this world a better place?
2. A Very Long Hike
I took a walk in the woods
and came out taller than the trees.
—Henry David Thoreau
Trekking in the Himalayas had been on my bucket list for years. I was not exactly searching for James Hilton’s Shangri-La, though the thought of finding it held appeal. Shangri-La is a fictional place described in the 1933 novel Lost Horizon.9 Shangri-La is described as a mystical, harmonious valley. It has become synonymous with any earthly paradise, particularly a mythical Himalayan utopia—a permanently happy land, isolated from the outside world.
In some ways, I found a version of Shangri-La. The terrain was largely unspoiled. We frequently found ourselves above the clouds. Sometimes herds of sheep and goats slowed us. We stopped to admire the white monkeys who gazed at us from tree limbs. I marveled at the rhododendron forests, with the tallest of that species I had ever seen. There were no roads, save for a few muddy paths here and there near the base of the mountains. The people I encountered were shut off from the rest of the world and rarely came down from their high abodes.
The people seemed content with so little. Children played with sticks and improvised toys. Anything not growing naturally in the Himalayas had to be carried many miles upward, so the Himalayan dwellers made do with less. Maybe that was the key to their contentment. They accepted their lives as they were. The experience gave me a dose of humility, perspective, and gratitude for being born in the United States, with attendant privileges (like clean bathrooms and modern toilets).
There was no luxury travel for this intrepid soul. I was back to my 20-something backpacking style. I actually brought my weathered L. L. Bean backpack from a two-month trip I took with a friend after taking the bar exam in 1988.
I did not find the mythical utopia. Even the “easiest” treks are not for the faint of heart. At times I felt as if I were carrying an anvil as I climbed in the higher elevations. But the payoff of witnessing a sunrise at 3,210 meters atop Poon Hill was one of my life’s highlights.
A small crowd gathered at Poon Hill to see the sunrise. It was glorious. All conversation ceased the moment the sun breached the horizon. Even the most jaded among us was momentarily without words.
The planet’s highest peaks are in the Himalayas. I had traveled to India and China in my 20s, but had never made it to Nepal, so I opted for a five-day trek on the Annapurna Circuit in north central Nepal. Annapurna is a Sanskrit name that has been translated by some to mean the “universal kitchen-goddess,” and “the mother who feeds.” How fitting for me, I thought. I planned to volunteer in Nepal after the trek, so I wanted a trek on the shorter side. Plus, I was out of shape.
My Sherpa guide was a trim, affable man whose English was spotty. That did not matter, except for the fact that I barely understood anything he said and thus never really knew our schedule. When he was ready to leave our electricity-free but affordable prayer flag–laden guest houses, I would gamely follow him.
The trek became somewhat of a series of silent walking meditations, which were difficult for this loquacious, recovering people-pleaser. I used to joke with my running group that I could talk for 20 miles (during our marathon training days), and then someone else would have to take on the task for the remainder of the run. And I proved I co
uld, in fact, fill the air with 20 miles’ worth of conversation on several occasions.
My ex-husband used to call me the “U.N. Rep” because I could talk to anyone and frequently approached strangers asking them if they needed help or photos taken.
I wanted to learn how to be a better listener. Quieting my mind and voice were things that allowed me to become better aware of what my Higher Power’s will for me may be, something I was becoming more interested in than where my own stubborn and sometimes misguided will had brought me.
The people I encountered along the trek underscored my lack of endurance skills. There were no roads in that part of the world. Everything had to be lugged up the mountain. Elderly men and women with deeply etched wrinkled skin carried unfathomable amounts of things on their backs and heads. At one point, I asked an ancient-looking woman if I could try picking up her bundle. I could not even budge it. She cackled in laughter at my feeble attempts.
At the end of the trek, I felt exhausted, but cleansed in some way. My arthritic knees were taped up with duct tape toward the end of the journey. Atop and surrounded by the world’s highest peaks, I reawakened my sense of wonder. The natural grandeur of the landscape made me gasp several times. It was cold and the trees glimmered from the snow that settled upon their limbs. The clouds dramatically shifted, darkened, and lightened from one moment to the next. I felt the presence of my Higher Power when I stared at the stunning beauty around me. I learned to just be on the journey without lamenting the past or future-tripping about what would happen next. I let go of expectations and gained perspective on my life. My divorce brought me sorrow, but I felt equipped to deal with the next chapter. Tears of gratitude filled my eyes. Renewal had begun.
Hiking in nature anywhere can be healing. Our country’s national parks provide picturesque, accessible venues. I know several women who have hiked the Appalachian trail by themselves. One celebrated her 50th birthday with this feat. Author Cheryl Strayed captured the essence of her healing solo journey along the famous West Coast trail in her bestselling memoir, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Coast Trail.10 I believe we all can heal by spending some alone time with Mother Nature.
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