I’’m always leery when someone tells me I’’m about to enter a new chapter in my life. It implies something painful has occurred — divorce, job loss, an embarrassing email sent to the wrong person.

Upon turning 50 this past year, friends and family volunteered “”new chapter”” advice in cards and e-mail, suggesting my life had taken an ugly turn for the worse.

I considered checking the Mayo Clinic’s online list of diseases, half expecting to see Trachoma, Trench Mouth, Turning 50.

Instead of reaching an age, I felt as if I had contracted a malady. I considered checking the Mayo Clinic’s online list of diseases, half expecting to see Trachoma, Trench Mouth, Turning 50.

The consoling tone in the birthday messages shocked me. Never once in the weeks prior did I express dread or disbelief, or even an open disdain, for early-bird dinner specials. I was perfectly content, viewing 50 not as a lament, but as a proud achievement. Worthy, in fact, of a whoop-out-loud celebration.

To my sister, who embraces aging like Iran embraces nuclear inspectors, this was unacceptable. “”That’s because you’’re age myopic, incapable of seeing the shortcomings of growing old,”  she hissed over the phone.

Suddenly there were social pressures to walk and talk, hold a spoon, and understand the meaning of no.

“”Untrue,”” I replied. “”I fretted turning two. I loved being one. No responsibilities. Constant attention. Every moment new and fresh. But when I hit two – wham! I couldn’’t cope and spiraled into a full-blown mid-toddler crisis. Suddenly there were social pressures to walk and talk, hold a spoon, and understand the meaning of no. However, once I realized I could not turn back the clock and relive those glorious days of infancy, I was at peace, forever accepting aging not as a step, stage or chapter, but as a celebration of new perspectives and challenges.””

“”You’re lying,”” she grumbled.

She was probably right. So what? My point was to accept rather than deny. Choose to be Betty White rather than Joan Rivers.

Poet/novelist Jim Harrison once scribed, “”Young people seem not to know that they are going to get old, but older people know that they are not going to become young again.””

The faster one acknowledges that there is no replay button, the faster one resolves to stop treating life like a random afterthought. Our time is now too scarce to spend it any other way than with life’’s appreciation-pedal mashed to the floor without fear of consequence.

At this juncture in life, we’’ve earned the right to be blissfully oblivious to the potholes of public opinion that so often caused us to tentatively tiptoe through our younger days.

And, why not? At this juncture in life, we’’ve earned the right to be blissfully oblivious to the potholes of public opinion that so often caused us to tentatively tiptoe through our younger days.

Aging is liberating. The quirks of our youth are now viewed as our badges of authenticity. Don’’t hold back. Revel in who you are and where you are. Chase your folly. Pursue new experiences. Give yourself permission to feel amateurish and awkward and even weird.

Feeling guilty over handing out Burger King ketchup packets at Halloween? So what? High-five yourself for giving the neighbors a story.

Feel like hanging out around popular hiking trails while dressed as a wizard with the sole intent of bothering confused hikers trying to find themselves? Go for it. Enjoy the moment. Take satisfaction in knowing you’’ve made someone’’s day memorable.

Or, do what I recently stumbled upon and listen to three totally different CD books on shuffle. The other day, much to the chagrin of family, I did this with Beatrix Potter’’s The Tale of Peter Rabbit, Dan Brown’’s The Da Vinci Code and Mary Shelley’’s Frankenstein. Wonderful. It made it sound like Peter Rabbit, after digging around in Mr. McGregor’’s vegetable garden, discovered the Holy Grail, but then tragically perished in a windmill fire.

When I shared this insight with my sister, she was unimpressed. “”But you’’re still over the hill,”” she countered with her usual optimism. “”You’’re old as dirt.””

New chapter. Over the hill. Old as dirt. Aging is thick with overused metaphors. If forced to choose one, I’’d compare aging to being relocated from an area you enjoy -— don’t look at what you’re going to lose, look at what you’re going to gain.

And, so far, I like what I’ve gained. With age I have better self-awareness, allowing focus on the important: family, friends, finding different CD books to play on shuffle.

Age has also given me greater appreciation for living in the now. No longer do I see a sunset; I marvel at a sunset. No longer do I eat a meal; I enjoy a meal. And no longer do I pretend to enjoy watching soccer; I instead lie to my nephew that I can’’t come to his game due a scheduling conflict.

Yes, getting on in age comes with many reasons to celebrate.