Fifty: waking up to a new decade in Jerusalem

It's just past 11am, and I'm sitting on my hotel balcony with a second cup of coffee, watching Jerusalem go about its business below. The morning breeze carries a hint of chill - the forecast says it'll be windy with occasional rain later today. But right now, there's just enough sunshine breaking through the clouds to make this moment feel special.

Fifty years old. The number sits strangely in my mind. I've been awake since 5:30 this morning, my body refusing to let me sleep in despite it being a significant day. Perhaps that's appropriate - no dramatic transformation, just the quiet continuation of life with an arbitrary milestone attached.

I spent the early morning walking through the narrow streets of the Old City while most tourists were still asleep. The shopkeepers were setting up, nodding politely as I passed. I found myself at the Western Wall just as the morning prayers were concluding. Standing there in the growing light, I felt both insignificant and deeply connected to something larger than myself. Fifty years is nothing against these ancient stones that have witnessed thousands of years of human joy, suffering, and prayer.

After returning to my hotel for breakfast, I found the staff had somehow discovered it was my birthday. They brought out a small pastry with a candle and sang to me - half in Hebrew, half in broken English. It was awkward and perfect. The elderly couple at the next table joined in, then insisted on buying me a coffee. We chatted for nearly an hour about their travels (they're from Argentina, on a pilgrimage they've been planning for fifteen years). When I mentioned I was traveling for 500 days, the husband laughed and said, "At our age, we plan shorter trips - we're not sure how many more years we have for adventures."

That conversation has stuck with me all morning. Fifty doesn't feel old until I consider how quickly the first fifty years went by. Will the next fifty - if I'm fortunate enough to have them - pass even more quickly?

I've been thinking about what to do with the rest of my birthday. The rain that's expected later has me reconsidering my original plan to visit Yad Vashem today - perhaps that's too heavy for a birthday. Instead, I'm drawn to the idea of a more spontaneous celebration. The Dead Sea is only an hour away by bus, and floating in those mineral-rich waters seems like an appropriately symbolic activity for marking this transition.

Or perhaps I'll simply continue exploring Jerusalem, allowing myself to get lost in its labyrinthine streets. There's something appealing about spending my fiftieth birthday as a nameless wanderer in one of the world's most ancient cities.

I'm still not sure what I'm searching for on this journey - or if I'll recognize it when I find it. But sitting here on this balcony, watching the light play across Jerusalem's stone buildings, I feel strangely at peace with not knowing. Maybe that's the gift of fifty: the beginning of comfort with uncertainty.

The wind is picking up now, ruffling my journal pages. Time to decide how to spend the remainder of this birthday. Whatever I choose, I know I'll remember this morning - quiet, reflective, and surprisingly gentle - for years to come.

Day 136 of 500. 364 days remaining to figure things out before I turn 51. The journey continues.