Dum, Dum, Dum, Da Da Dum Dum…
“Pressure pushing down on me / Pressing down on you, no man ask for…”— David Bowie & Queen, “Under Pressure”
At 49, I find myself waking up with this song stuck in my head more often than I used to. It’s not just a nostalgic anthem anymore (and can we please agree that Vanilla Ice TOTALLY swiped this?)—it’s a truth-teller. There’s something in those pulsing beats and raw lyrics that captures what it feels like to be right where I find myself: at the edge of 50, carrying more weight than I ever expected—some of it visible, some of it not.
The Silent Force: Pressure is a Constant Companion
By this age, pressure isn’t always loud and soul crushing. It doesn’t always come in the form of deadlines or demands. It can be a subtle but constant force—like gravity. Neil deGrasse Tyson once described gravity not as a force that shouts, but as one that simply pulls. It’s ever-present. It doesn’t need your permission to push you down. It takes root. It hangs out on your front porch and never goes away. It just sits there. Always.
It’s not the same kind of pressure we faced in our twenties—when expectations were just forming and goals were glittery and ambitious. No, this is much more subtle. It’s the pressure of being sandwiched between huge responsibilities and trying to salvage your health and sanity.
It’s the slowly accumulating weight of all the “shoulds” stacking up on each other. You should have it figured out by now. You should be more successful, healthier, happier, more “together.” You should be over your childhood wounds. You should be saving more, drinking less, meditating more, scrolling less.
That’s how pressure works now. It’s woven into my everyday life.
- It’s in the responsibility of raising kids through their transition to adulthood while beginning to care for aging parents.
- It’s in the career I’ve spent decades building and the fear of becoming obsolete in a world that seems to be changing at light speed.
- It’s in the thoughts I have at 3:00 a.m.: Am I where I’m supposed to be? Did I miss my moment? Is it too late? Is this really all there is? Is there time left to check off everything on my lifetime To-Do list?
- It’s my body, slowly changing, getting balder and more wrinkled by the day- rudely proceeding without my prior written consent.
- It’s the growing awareness that there is more time behind me than ahead.
And unlike when I was younger, this pressure doesn’t demand quick decisions that might lead to rash choices or impulsive actions. Instead, it demands strength, endurance, grace, and the ability to navigate complex emotions with a steady hand. Patience becomes a virtue not only in the face of challenges but also during times of uncertainty, requiring me to cultivate a deeper sense of self-awareness. This journey involves a kind of internal re-calibration, where I must reassess my values and priorities, learning to find balance amidst the chaos. In embracing this process, I discover the profound lessons hidden within each moment of struggle, realizing that true resilience is forged in the pressure cooker of life.
Dancing With the Inevitable: Gravity as a Metaphor for Acceptance
Tyson also teaches us that gravity shapes the universe. It binds galaxies, births stars, and curves spacetime itself. It is, quite literally, what holds everything in the cosmos together.
Pressure can be like that, too. It can compress you until you simply snap —or it can shape you into something fresh, exciting and new. The question is not in whether pressure exists; it’s in how you are going to meet it head on and thrive in its presence.
This is a time in life when many of us feel the slow, quiet ache of being pulled—by our expectations, the expectations of our children and spouses, the expectations of society and by reality, and by aging. But just as gravity keeps us from floating aimlessly into space, pressure can be the very thing that roots us to what really matters. It clarifies. It strips away the unnecessary. It focuses us on what’s most critical and important. It shifts through the bullshit.
“It’s the terror of knowing what this world is about…”
Approaching 50 comes with an acute awareness of life’s fragility. You’ve likely lost people you love. You’ve watched relationships falter and your goals, dreams and aspirations evolve—or completely dissolve. You’ve seen the world change in both breathtaking and heartbreaking ways.
And now, with half a century of experience, you know just enough to feel both terrified and grateful. You begin to understand the stakes. You’ve seen first hand how quickly things can shift. You’re coming to grips with your own mortality. The clock is ticking. You start to have morbid daydreams about who will show up at your funeral and what they will have to say about a life you gave everything to make meaningful.
This awareness can feel overwhelming. But it can also be freeing.
- It gives you permission to say no—to invitations, to roles, to versions of yourself that never quite fit. Ain’t nobody got time for that.
- It gives you permission to rest. I no longer even pretend to care when I go to bed before 10pm.
- It gives you permission to love what you love, unapologetically.
From Surviving to Showing Up
Coping isn’t about escaping the pressure. It’s about leaning into it and learning how to live with it—how to breathe in the thick of it, how to soften around it. How to recognize what is real pressure and what is manufactured by you, your ego or those around you.
For me, coping looks different now than it did in my 30s:
- It’s going for a walk without tracking the steps on my iWatch.
- It’s choosing moments of quiet over 24/7 peak performance.
- It’s forgiving myself for not being where I thought I’d be.
- It’s crying to Under Pressure in my pickup truck, windows down, singing louder then hell.
It’s realizing that productivity doesn’t equal worth. That presence is more valuable than perfection. And that showing up—tired, messy, vulnerable—is sometimes the bravest thing we can do.
At this age, coping with pressure isn’t about pushing back harder. It’s about letting go of perfection. It’s about choosing softness over strategy. It’s giving yourself permission to rest without feeling guilty, to say “nope” without explanation, and to admit you’re just plain tired without apologizing.
It’s realizing that while gravity holds us down, it’s also what anchors us. It keeps our feet on the earth, connects us to others, and reminds us that we’re not drifting aimlessly. Pressure, like gravity, can be grounding—if we stop fighting it and start listening.
“Why can’t we give love one more chance?”
Bowie and Mercury’s question rings louder with age. Maybe its because our old ass ears can no longer withstand cranking the headphones to 11 +. Or maybe it’s because, at 50, we start to realize that love—in all its forms—is the only answer that ever really made sense.
Not just romantic love, though that has its place. But love as presence. As kindness. As self-acceptance. Love as an act of rebellion in a world constantly asking us to be more, do more, earn more and fight each other along the way.
Love as the antidote to pressure—not because it erases the weight, but because it reminds us we don’t have to carry the weight alone.
Finding Beauty in the Weight
They say diamonds are formed under pressure. But I no longer want to be a diamond—hard, impenetrable, flawless. I want to be something else.
- Maybe a riverbed stone, softened by years of running water.
- Maybe a tree, stronger with age – bending but not breaking in the storm.
- Maybe just a human being who has lived, and is still learning how to live.
Pressure will always be there. But now, I know I can sit beside it. Sing with it. Let it teach me without letting it define me. Give it the middle finger whenever I feel like it.
Because the truth is, there’s something sacred about being almost 50 years old. It’s not the end of anything. It’s just the edge of something deeper.
And I’m learning to be comfortable cliff jumping into the next chapter
“This is our last dance / This is ourselves… under pressure.”
There’s something terrifying and beautiful about approaching 50. It feels like a kind of last dance with youth—a moment to either collapse under the weight of what we haven’t done, or to throw our arms wide open and break out our best “Ice Ice Baby”.
So here we are. Dancing the cosmic dance. Shaped by gravity, guided by love. Still trying to figure it all out and …under pressure.
Maybe the antidote to pressure isn’t more strength. Maybe it’s more compassion. More grace. More love—for ourselves, for our aging bodies, our complicated families, our unfinished dreams.
So if you’re feeling the weight, remember: you’re not broken. You’re just human, held together by stardust, time, and a little bit of melody. Maybe, like me, you’re just learning how to make 50 the new 35.
The Story of Us. 
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