take a risk over 50

You’re over 50. Or well past 60. Maybe 70 is in the rearview mirror. You’ve decided to make a change. A big one. Take the new job. Retire. Move to the brand new address across the country or across the world. Marry someone who doesn’t quite fit your family’s heirloom locket.

Paint your hair (what’s left) purple.

Got your earplugs ready? Because you are really going to hear it!

You’re too old.
You’re too young.
You don’t know anybody there.
You already have a good job.
Stuff like that is for kids.
You can’t do this by yourself.
What is something goes wrong?
Why would you want to start over?
Don’t you like it here?
Why would you want to live there?
How can you leave/ignore/betray your family?
How you leave/ignore/betray your friends?
Don’t you realize people your age don’t do things like this?
What will people think?
Aren’t you scared?

They mean well. They just can’t figure out why you would do anything that resembles taking a risk. Especially at your age. (Luckily, not everyone will say these things to you. Those who matter most will understand, even if they won’t admit it.)

The ironic part is 50+ is when you are best equipped to make a big change.

At least that was true for me. In my 20s and 30s, I was too busy trying to gain work experience and feel comfortable with everything life threw at me. I thought about making big changes a few times, but let fear and uncertainty stifle any real action. It wasn’t until I was able to cast off all the baggage of other people’s expectations that I could clearly hear what my soul was telling me.

And I’m so glad I listened. Because even though every major life change brings with it moments of anxiety, doubt, loneliness (and the occasional cheese dip binge), it also brings a great deal of peace. Leaving your comfort zone can be the best way to find out what—and who—really matters to you. When you put distance between you and the way things have always been, you can turn around and view it from a different perspective. It’s like standing in a museum and staring at an oversized canvas. The tiny, insignificant details fade away, the background blurs, and what is left is the core—the passion—of the painting.

Before, you saw the faces, you heard all the noise…. Now, what is left? What images still touch your heart? Who do you genuinely miss and want to keep close forever? What truly matters in your life? I think it’s the good stuff—the stuff you have with you always, and can always return to.

You will learn a lot when you start a new adventure. Here’s what taking a big risk taught me:

How anything is possible.
How lonely it can be.
How fantastic it can be.
Which friendships are real.
Which people live in my heart.
The wonder of email and texting.
Dogs don’t like change.
Naps are holy.
Learning new things requires forgetting some old stuff.
That can be a very good thing.
No matter how good you feel about things, you’re still going to occasionally wake up at 3 a.m. and wonder what the hell you are doing there.
There’s not always going to be a sign to point you in the right direction.
Go left or go right, but don’t just sit there.
You can mow grass while it is snowing.
You need sleep. Lots of it.
God is always there. He’s just quiet sometimes.

Changing your life, starting over, whatever words you use—it is not without its challenges.. But I believe the universe is standing by waiting to kick in a lot of power once you commit. The road may not be easy. But look where it can lead.