50 Before 50: A Soul Investment

For most of my adult life, I’ve invested my energy in other people. Their spiritual health. Their emotional well-being. Their meals, their milestones, their messy, beautiful lives. I'm juggling my family's (tween, teen, spouse) needs while supporting aging parents—a task that requires tightrope-walking finesse and saintly patience.  On top of that, I've pastored congregations, which is like herding cats that occasionally question why sermons are so long or why we sang THAT hymn.

But lately, I’ve hit a wall. I’ve been feeling burned out, disillusioned, and more than a little judgmental. I see people who haven’t done their work—people who are angry or bitter or endlessly reactive—and I realize how hard it is to stay compassionate when I feel so depleted myself.

Lets face it, I'll still do all those other things too. But I'm going to start with me.

This is my act of resistance. Resistance against burnout. Resistance against the illusion that I am only as valuable as what I produce or fix or hold together.

I’m calling it my “50 Before 50” Project—50 things I will do for myself before I turn 50 next year. Not to perform. Not to prove anything. But to remember who I am—outside the roles of pastor, mom, spouse, activist, caretaker. To reclaim space for my voice, my body, my spirit. To give my future self something sturdier to stand on.

There is a list. Yes, I’ve already made it. Some things will be a piece of cake. Some will take actual effort (ugh). And a few—let’s be honest—might be so ambitious that writing about not doing them could turn out to be the real accomplishment.

And I promise—I’ll reveal them. But not all at once, and not until I’ve finished an item on the list. This is a pilgrimage, not a peek-ahead-to-the-ending kind of story.

I’ll be honest: rest doesn’t come naturally to me. With the exception of sermon-writing, self-reflection doesn't come easily for me either. More often than not, I fill my calendar with to-dos to avoid the harder feelings—feelings of inadequacy, helplessness, or being not-enough. But I’m trying to trust that in this intentional pause, and reflection I might find freedom.

In the play I recently participated in recently, “A Perfect Arrangement,” the author, Topher Payne, included a line where a character says, “It’s no longer a perfect arrangement anymore.”

Exactly.

I'm ending the arrangement. I'm putting an end to the facade.

I’ll be blogging here regularly to share the journey: what I’m learning, what I’m struggling with, and how the 50 things are unfolding. I might have content for a blog well after my 50 before 50 tasks are done. I’m not expecting to arrive at some glorious mountaintop of enlightenment. I’m just trying to walk more honestly into the second half of my life—with more joy, more creativity, more clarity, and maybe—just maybe—more of me.

If you’re feeling burned out, disoriented, or unsure who you are outside your responsibilities, I hope you’ll walk alongside me. Maybe even start your own list.