I’ve got a big birthday looming on the horizon… it has a zero at the end. That’s all you need to know, thank you very much.

As has been true for all my milestone birthdays, I find myself reflecting on my life. Actually, it’s more of an evaluation than a reflection. What’s working? What’s not working? Why am I still doing the things that aren’t working? Why don’t I know what I want to be, do, and become?

Let the self-loathing begin!

Feeling lost is a common experience for many of us but not for all of us. We all know at least one person who knew their life’s purpose before they knew how to read.

“I always knew I wanted to be a neurosurgeon.”

“Acting was in my blood from the day I was born.”

“I love numbers and, once I learned what an accountant was, that’s all I could think about being.”

Blah, blah, blah.

People who tell me they always knew what they wanted to do with their lives are as much an enigma to me as those who say, “I forgot to eat today.” Seriously? I have never forgotten to eat. I’ve been too busy to eat, but then all I can think about while I’m being so busy is the fact that I haven’t yet eaten.

But I digress.

While other people with a clear sense of purpose from birth were planning their futures on the playground at recess, I was just trying to survive being the perpetual new kid in school because we moved every two or so years. My only sense of purpose then was to have a friend by recess.

And now, many decades later, I find I still don’t have a clear direction… I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. Given that I’m clearly passed middle age, I’m feeling a sense of urgency to figure it out.

I was afraid it was too late for me, but then it occurred to me that if I’m still breathing there is still time. And then I learned about some of these folks:

World-renowned celebrity chef Julia Child didn’t publish her first cookbook until she was 50 years old.

Vera Wang didn’t become a fashion design icon until she changed careers from figure skater and journalist to enter the fashion industry – at 40.

Laura Ingalls Wilder didn’t publish the first “Little House on the Prairie” book until she was 65 years old.

Grandma Moses didn’t begin painting until she was 78.

Betty White, whose amazing career spanned 70 years, didn’t become a household name until she landed a spot on the Mary Tyler Moore show in the early 1970s at the age of 51.

There’s so many more, and each person took a different path to reach success. And perhaps even some of them didn’t have a clue what they wanted to do until they stumbled upon it later in life. The point is that they never stopped trying, never stopped looking for what made their hearts sing, never settled just because of their ages.

I am a little ashamed of myself for thinking that my age limits my options. The only thing limiting what I do next is the way I think about the years I have left. Are they a countdown to my funeral… or are they an invitation to continue seeking joy – in all its forms – every single day? The latter sounds way better.