Never Retire: How I Keep Going—Even as I Turn 50

Slowing down doesn’t mean stopping. It means choosing what to keep—and never saying goodbye to what matters.

I’m turning 50 next month. About 98% of me can’t believe it.

Sometimes I’ll look in the mirror and make dumb faces. Or take off my shirt and flex like I did when I was 11. I still see the same little kid with his collarbone sticking out and a neck full of veins. Add in my constant silliness and near-endless energy, and 50 doesn’t compute as the next stop on the road of life.

Fifty. Cincuenta. LOL.

What gets to me isn’t the number—it’s watching people fall off way before they have to. Especially in my family. And it’s not just physical decline. It’s mental. It’s emotional. It’s cultural. They let go before the letting go was necessary.

It’s all about attitude.

In some cases, there’s a fair bit of Fox News-supplied bitterness, but more than anything they subscribe to the notion that at a certain age, you’re supposed to stop doing certain things.

You let American society’s script for getting old take hold—often before it needs to. You anticipate what you apparently need to stop doing at a certain age and you stop doing it—maybe literally, maybe in your head in anticipation—before the time even comes.

Often, you let anxiety take control.

You expect certain things to happen and—self-fulfilling prophecies being as they are—these things happen.

For a lot of people, aging becomes a kind of surrender.

You stop bending over to tie your shoes. You stop exercising. You stop doing things that make you feel alive—not because you can’t, but because some internalized voice says you shouldn’t.

You listen to society’s script instead of your body.

You expect things to go south, and—shocker—they do.

You tell yourself you’re old, and then your life starts to look like someone else’s definition of what that’s supposed to mean.

The only thing we know for sure is coming is death.

That’s what I grapple with now more than ever. Not the aging. The idea that the ride I’m enjoying so much has to end someday.

I don’t want to say goodbye to morning coffee.
Or beach days.
Or bike rides.
Or hot yoga.
Or spontaneous walks.
Or my daughter.
Or my wife.

I don’t want to say goodbye to the day to day—and frequent breaks from ritual and routine—I love so much.

Which is probably why I have always sucked at goodbyes and keep getting worse.

Slowing Down Is a Strategy, Not a Signal.

Some things I’ve adjusted:

• I swapped indoor cycling for hot yoga.

• I don’t run anymore. I walk—intentionally and often.

• I still ride hard on my bike.

• I sleep more (sometimes!).

• I recover as well, if not better than I ever have, during and after exercise.

But I haven’t stopped. And I don’t intend to.

Hot yoga is brutal. Every time I drag myself through a class, I ask: Am I getting too old for this?

Then I show up again two days later.

The point isn’t to crush myself. It’s to stay in motion—on purpose, and without burning out.

I still wake up hungry—most days—for progress and for experiences.

I still set goals. I still make plans. I still try things. But I don’t confuse that with the old pressure to climb, hustle, prove.

That version of ambition breaks people.

I’m after longevity. A rhythm I can keep. A structure that supports how I live now—and how I want to keep living as long as possible.

Slowing down doesn’t mean giving up.

It means pacing yourself for the long haul. Protecting your energy for the people, places, and work that matter most.

I’m not saying goodbye to anything just yet.

I’m saying: Let’s keep going—on purpose, with grit, and with more good stuff in the tank than anyone expects at 50.

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🇪🇸 Language Corner

I’m turning 50 next month. About 98% of me can’t believe it.

Sometimes I’ll look in the mirror and make dumb faces. Or take off my shirt and flex like I did when I was 11. I still see the same little kid with his collarbone sticking out and a neck full of veins. Add in my constant silliness and near-endless energy, and 50 doesn’t compute as the next stop on the road of life.

Me cumplo cincuenta el mes que viene. Sobre noventa ocho por ciento de mi no lo creo.

A veces, miro en el espejo y hace caras tontas. O llevar mi camiseta y flexionar como hice cuando tenga once años. Todavía veo el mismo niño pequeño con su clavícula sobresaliendo y un cuello lleno de venas. Añadir mi tonterías constante y casi sin terminar energía y cincuenta no se siente como la próxima parada en el camino de vida.