I’ve been reading lots of blogs online from women about getting older. Most are from women in their 30s who’ve found a terrific outlet for their feelings — blogging. Back before the internet, I wrote a column when I turned 50 — basically that the higher you climb the ladder of life, the broader your view gets (and, let’s be honest, your hips as well).

Life in your 50s brings an appreciation and acceptance of where you’ve been yet there’s still some excitement as to where the second half of your life will take you. Now that I’m in my 60s, I find there are things I still look forward to doing. As the author states in the original blog, you don’t shop at Forever 21 for yourself — now it’s for your granddaughter whom you fervently hope will have an easier time through those teenage years than you did.

You shop at the “older lady” sections of the stores but that’s okay because you do not give a damn what anybody else thinks. You wear what you like, a fashion style based on living through Birkenstock sandals, hip huggers and go-go boots. You either accept the gray hair or color it and you can dye your hair purple because, again, you do not give a rat’s patootie what anybody else thinks.

Each decade has its struggles and rewards. The 20’s are a time of accepting responsibilities, finding your own voice and figuring out what you want to do in life. The 30s are usually spent raising kids, going to PTA meetings, fitting the lawn chairs into the back of the van next to the diaper bag and deciding if the person you chose to spend the rest of your life with is worth ushering in your 40s. The 40s? A little more relaxing but those orthodontic bills are killers. As is the pain in your shoulder and your left knee.

And that brings us to the 50s, the 60s, the 70’s and the 80s. What I can tell you from this vantage point is to enjoy every single minute of whatever decade you find yourself in. You will never get them back – not that bar-hopping all-nighter you spent with your friends in your 20s, the hours in the ballpark on bleachers watching your child play ball in your 30s, the late-night talks with your pre-adolescent daughter in your 40s or the helping your son pack his clothes for college in your 50s.

Enjoy every single blessed moment because, truthfully, they’re gone before you can say “Steppenwolf” and remember, yes, we were born to be wild. At this point in our lives, that wild means getting real ice cream instead of low-fat yogurt, having a steak instead of baked chicken and wearing your sweat pants everywhere because you do not care what others think. And that, my dear friends, is heaven.