Let me tell you — figuring life out is not easy.

I’m 48 years old. Yep. Forty-eight.

Soon enough it’ll be 49, and then the inevitable and slightly horrifying gulp — 50. And I know, I know, I should be embracing it. Age comes with wisdom, experience and a whole lot of lessons. With each decade I’ve lived, I’ve gained a little more clarity on what’s actually significant and what’s just noise.

I’ve learned when to lean in and when to throw up my hands and say, “Oh heck no, count me out.”

That loud FOMO — fear of missing out — voice I had when I was younger?

Yeah… it stuck around a little too long and probably helped stretch my four-year bachelor’s degree into, well — embarrassingly — just shy of a decade. In my defense, I thought I graduated. My name was even printed in this paper. I didn’t go to the ceremony. I wasn’t in the right headspace and hanging with my friends felt way more appealing than sweating in a cap and gown to walk across a stage in front of people I didn’t know, for a degree I didn’t know what to do with anyway.

Now, let me squirrel for a second. I genuinely believed I had graduated. I moved on. Got a job.

Then a second job. And it wasn’t until that second employer asked for my official transcripts that I found out I was … wait for it… two credit hours short. Two!

Now, yes, I was a hot mess in those years, but it wasn’t entirely on me. Our beloved local university — one I still deeply love and believe we’re lucky to have — transitioned from quarters to semesters. That shift, paired with my messiness and major case of FOMO, left me two credits short.

Blissfully unaware for four years. Thankfully, the chair of my department offered me a way to bridge the gap — a final seminar paper — and that was it. I finally graduated.

Fast-forward to now: I’m still somewhat of a hot mess, just a more responsible and acutely aware one.

The biggest difference? I’ve outgrown that dreadful FOMO. Maybe that was just to make room for my well-developed “squirrel syndrome.” (You know, where one thought leads to another and suddenly you’re a mile away from where you started.)

So, you’d think I’d be ready to welcome my fifties with open arms, right?

The truth is, I’m struggling. I want to embrace it. I’ve fallen in love with each decade a little more than the last, so why not this one?

But there’s this nagging feeling that my window for achieving all the things I’ve dreamed of is starting to close. That my chances to prove my value, to be seen as useful, are running out.

The failures and pivots that used to feel like growth now feel like weights I have to justify carrying.

I know, logically, age doesn’t define purpose or potential. I mean, watch “tick, tick… BOOM!” and you’ll know it’s not about the age — it’s about the drive. But still, that uneasy feeling lingers.

So I’m asking: if you’re in my shoes — or have been — what do you do with this mindset? Do you shake it off? Do you sit with it? Does it ever go away?

I’m open to your thoughts. Your stories. Your encouragement. This column is never meant to be a monologue — it’s a conversation. From me… to you.

Mother, author, entrepreneur and founder of Dandelion-Inc, Lisa Resnick wants to hear your story. Share memories with her by emailing lisa@dandelion-inc.com.