How old would you be if you didn't know how old you were?

Age is strictly a case of mind over matter. If you don't mind, it doesn't matter. – Mark Twain

Well, today I am going to reveal a massive secret. Promise me you won't tell anybody before you proceed.

In August, I unlocked level 50 of the game of life, where the graphics are blurry, the sound effects are mostly coming from my joints, and the candles cost more than the cake. I have reached the age where my obituary will no longer need to use the word 'untimely'.

Aging is not unique or a particularly interesting subject. Anyone can get old. All you have to do is live long enough. But then, old age isn't so bad when you consider the alternative.

At my age, my morning routine is simple. I get my daily paper, look at the obituaries page and if I am not there, I carry on as usual. Honestly, I feel like a classic car. I look great from a distance, the paint job is mostly holding up, but the ‘check engine’ light is permanently blinking on the dashboard. They call it the middle age because you're stuck somewhere between “I can do that” and “I shouldn't have done that.”

Now that I am officially a half-century old, I have realized that 50 isn't actually old. In fact, if you can live to be one hundred, I think you have got it made. Because very few people die past that age! But the catch is that you can live to be a hundred, only if you give up all the things that make you want to live to be a hundred in the first place.

My timing has been completely off in the game of life. There was no respect for youth when I was young, and now that I am old, there is no respect for the elderly. Looks like, I missed it coming and going.

The strangest thing about turning 50 is that you don't actually feel 50. You feel pretty much like the same person you were at 30, except your body has quietly changed the terms and conditions without asking you to click “Accept.” Looks like I missed the clause stating that sneezing can now pull a muscle and sleeping in the wrong position requires three business days for recovery.

My body has also become more corporate with age. Every joint now has a performance issue, every muscle has a notice period, and none of them are willing to go beyond their job description. An annual health check-up is basically a performance appraisal for the body. Except this time, you don't get to disagree with the rating.

My sleep pattern has also changed. In my twenties, I could sleep anywhere, anytime. At 50, I need the right pillow, the right temperature, the right position, complete darkness and silence. And even after getting everything right, I still wake up at 3 am to wonder why I woke up at 3 am.

Besides, as you get older, three things eventually happen. The first is that your memory starts to fade, and I can't remember the other two. Though I do remember that when I was a boy the Dead Sea was only sick.

There was a time when I could wake up and immediately jump out of bed. Nowadays, getting out of bed has become a two-stage process. First, I get out of bed. Then I wait for the rest of my body to catch up.

In our twenties, we compared salaries. In our thirties, we compared cars and houses. In our forties, we compared children's grades or careers. After fifty, we compare blood test results with the same enthusiasm we once reserved for salary hikes.

It’s funny how conversations change with age. These days, my friends and I don't ask, "What are your plans for the weekend?" Instead, we ask, "What are you taking for it?".

My phone has become my reading aid on the days I forget my glasses. I open the camera and zoom in on whatever I am trying to read. My eyes have apparently decided that after 50, they will no longer support small fonts. The restaurant menu is now a hostile document. I hold it at arm's length. Then a little further. Then even further. Eventually I just look at the waiter and ask, “What do you recommend?” My fitness tracker recently congratulated me for reaching my daily step goal. I was merely looking for my reading glasses.

Just the other day, my investment advisor urged me to buy a stock that would double its value in three years. I told him, ‘At my age, I don't even buy green bananas’.

The silver lining is that at 50, you stop caring what people think; partially because you've gained a bit of wisdom, but mostly because you literally can't hear what they're whispering anyway.

If you haven't grown up by 50, the good news is that you officially don't have to anymore. As they say, growing old is compulsory, growing up is optional. Though, if you ask me, age is a terribly high price to pay for maturity.

So yes, I have unlocked Level 50. The graphics may be blurrier, the loading time every morning may be longer, and the system occasionally freezes without warning. But I still like the character, I am enjoying the storyline, and I am certainly not ready to hand over the controller just yet. Game on, I say!

In the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years.