Venturing Out After 50—the Prequel

We all take different paths in our lives, some by choice, some by chance, some by force, some by circumstance. Those paths lead to different paths, which lead to different paths, and so on, until we reach a point years later where we almost don’t recognize the places we’ve been or the person we once were. From my personal experience, life is many times a series of chain reactions—a choice triggers a set of circumstances that then forces your hand to live in a way that may or may not have been what you had envisioned.

For me, a conscious choice led to marriage at a young age (while finishing up college), a path that I feel forced me grow up pretty damn fast. Of course I had my share of indulgence and debauchery throughout college, but getting hitched young resulted in a vastly different life experience than those friends and acquaintances that remained single well into their 20’s and beyond. While they were still partying, traveling, dabbling in questionable promiscuity, trying new things—I was monogamous, playing house and settling into a career that would stick with me for the better part of three decades. There is no right or wrong answer, with each person filling their own basket and ultimately deciding their own destiny.

That said, I don’t regret the path I chose, nor would I change a thing from my past as it formed the person I am in the present. Although marriage ultimately lead to divorce for me, it triggered a calling that I honestly had no idea was burning inside—to be the most dedicated father I could possibly be. Tackling parenthood and maintaining a household with only half of the equation was certainly an example of circumstance driving reality, and every decision I made from there on out was based on the welfare of my girls. When put in that position, you do whatever needs to be done, like staying in an unsatisfying job that provides stability but eats away at you inside; or giving up any semblance of financial gain so you can sink every penny into the betterment of your children; or putting off personal relationships that don’t mesh with your tight, yet unconventional family unit. Parenting certainly isn’t for the faint of heart, but is easily the most rewarding endeavor anyone could ever embark upon.

So let’s recap—I made choices early on that set in motion a series of circumstances that have defined my life for the past 30 years. There have been peaks and valleys, happiness and sadness, love and heartbreak, struggling financial times, and relationships that have come and gone. It has been eventful to say the least and when all is said and done, I’m happy with where I’m at and what I have accomplished thus far.

But now comes the dilemma.

Now comes the fork in the road.

I’m 50…Now What??

I’ve come to appreciate the banality of that statement when looking back at how quickly the first 50 years of my life seem to have gone, while pondering a reality that I suspect has set in for many of my midlife peeps. . .

. . .now what?

My daughters, two of the most favorite people in my life, are grown and spreading their independent wings, leaving me with an empty nest and a glaring realization:

HOLY SHIT, I actually have time for myself again!

Time to pursue new things, time to engage in new and meaningful relationships without having to analyze each step through the lens of a cautious parent, time to soul search on where I’ve been and where I actually want to go, and, most importantly, time to sell myself on the idea that great and unexpected things can still happen in my life. I have to believe that existence isn’t simply a downward spiral after 50, but rather a new phase and a new journey where I am only as old as I feel.

Again, I don’t regret any of the choices I’ve made….YET. And I stress, YET. Responsibilities that have dictated my life for the past several years have changed—the belt has loosened, the constraints have released, the restrictions have subsided. I still have a lot of life to live, and I now find myself focusing on the choices I haven’t made.

Those are the ones that I fear could lead to regret.

Up to this point I have lived and learned the virtues of a conservative life (from a behavioral standpoint, not political), generally sticking to the straight and narrow that cautiously avoided anything slightly resembling risk. For all the reasons listed above, and in the name of stability, I didn’t “explore” while I was young. But there isn’t anything that says I can’t do it now, when I’m older, right?

I’m not dead.

Nothing says I have to stay stuck in the same repeatable patterns that have defined my existence.

Nothing says I can’t go after those pipe dreams that have been wedged in the deep recesses of my mind.

Dreams such as writing my first novel at the age of 50.

The Prequel…

What started as a series of demented thoughts eventually morphed into the fragmented puzzle pieces of a horror story that had been marinating in my imagination for the better part of a decade. In mid-2020, I started to capture raw ideas that steadily grew over the course of several years, and by early 2023 the vault had grown quite deep. Taking a wholistic view, a rough outline was built as I shuffled the puzzle pieces into a format with a promising flow.

In August of 2023, I typed the first word.

In November 2024, I typed the last word.

In March 2025, I finished the last edit of the manuscript.

My first horror novel was born.

The creative writing process brought about a passion and excitement that I had rarely felt—a genuine joy, an aphrodisiac, an endeavor that was always at the forefront of my mind, even when I was away from my laptop. Writing was beautiful, enlightening, intrinsic, private…intimate. I had found something inside me.

But if a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound? If no one ever reads my work and there is no audience, is the artform ever truly expressed to its fullest potential? No, finishing the first draft of the novel was really just the first rung of a larger process, the next step of which is more daunting and less certain. Desiring to publish my novel via traditional methods, I am now in the midst of querying literary agents for representation, laying myself bare at their feet and doing all I can to find new and creative ways of standing out and grabbing their attention. This is all part of the stage that I am calling “the prequel”—the behind-the-scenes processes necessary for my novel to make it into the mainstream.

It can be humbling. Scary. Uncertain. Frustrating. Even somewhat embarrassing. It is forcing me to go well beyond my comfort zone as I put myself out into a world of social media that is acutely counter to the familiar safe cocoon of privacy in which I generally hibernate.

But I’m doing it dammit, and I’ll document my journey along the way.

I refuse to sabotage the process or derail the dream by giving up. The fear of embarrassment, the fear of failure, the fear of judgement—those are things I need to push past and stay laser focused on envisioning the life where this succeeds, where my work gets out into the world and people have a chance to see what rolls around inside my head.

I simply don’t want to live with the regret of not taking the chance.

Actors, artists, novelists, business moguls, athletes—there is no shortage of inspiring stories of people that have done great things throughout the later stages of life. I know I’m not the first person to try something vastly new after 50, and certainly won’t be the last. I just want to join the club!