By the time you read this, I’ll have turned 50 like my fellow 1974ers: the Rubik’s Cube, bar codes, Post-it Notes, and Baileys Irish Cream Liqueur.
I used to think people in their fifties had given up on life. When I was an immature 15-year-old, that view was confirmed by a grey haired teacher who came into class with a thin strip of toilet paper dangling down from his flies. Granted, the white tissue paper brought a touch of contrast to his tweed, two-tone outfit, but it certainly wasn’t by design. Poor old “sir” had got into a tangle in the toilet, much to the amusement of us smutty teenage boys.
In my mind reaching the big 50 was an unwanted landmark. But now I’m here, I couldn’t care less. It’s everyone else that seems to mind.
“How do you feel about turning 50?” people ask me and last year, when I was having a facial – not a regular thing, but a Father’s Day gift – I mentioned I was close to 50 to the skincare specialist who proceeded to offer me fillers. That certainly made me anxious.
But contrary to all of the outside noise, I’m rather looking forward to my fifties. Really. I think it’s because I unintentionally confronted my the midlife crisis many years ago – in fact just before my 40th.
I had been asked to join ITV’s new breakfast show, Good Morning Britain. At the time I was presenting on Sky Sports News, which will mean something to the sports fans reading this, but absolutely nothing to the rest of you. And that was the point – GMB had a much bigger and broader audience, and so one week and one day after I turned 40, Susanna Reid, Ben Shephard, Charlotte Hawkins and I broadcast our first show. It was a big step up for me, in presenting and in profile. It was the opportunity I’d been waiting for for so long.
So success and my profile became my be-all and end-all. I made them my driver for life and I was impatient for more. I checked the TV viewing figures for GMB religiously, I monitored my exposure, was desperate for my social media followings to grow, and focused on my next big job.
Being super-ambitious came with baggage though. I was terrified of failure. My wife said I’d gone from a glass half-full person to a glass half-empty person. The pressure to succeed meant that when I didn’t, for example when the viewing figures dipped (which they did frequently), my mood followed.
Lots of exposure can be a great experience, but the slightest mistake can feel crushing. One time I was a guest reporter on Ant and Dec’s Saturday Night Takeaway. I put so much pressure on myself to get it right I couldn’t remember presenting my section straight after I’d done it. I think it went well but I couldn’t be sure until I watched the broadcast back. It felt like the pressure was making my brain respond in the same way it would to a trauma – my brain’s way of protecting me from bad stuff.
So, safe to say, it was all getting a bit too much. Then an old university friend got in touch with an unusual request. He said he was making a career change from teaching to become a life coach, and his training had so far only led him to practicing on former colleagues. He asked me to be a guinea pig so he could broaden his experience. I thought why not, if it helps him out, so over the following few months I squeezed the six sessions he’d asked for into my busy diary. That favour for a friend turned out to be the beginning of a realisation that I was caring about the wrong things.
We explored what my core needs are – or in plain English, what I need in life to be happy. In no particular order, my top four were love, respect, creativity and authenticity. It very quickly dawned on me that none of those aligned with the priorities in my life at the time – that drive for success.
So in the years up to my 50th birthday I have tried to make sure I prioritise my needs, and surround myself with people who help me do so. For example I have begun trying to ringfence time to produce music with my 21-year-old son, or work on programmes and ideas where I am comfortable to be myself. In short I care less about the things that don’t really matter, and I care a whole lot more about the things and people that are important to me.
The young Sean may have interpreted that different approach of 50-somethings as giving up, but it’s actually giving up on the things that aren’t significant, and giving an extra dose of enthusiasm to the things that do.
If you’re a fellow 1974er – give or take a few years – it might be worth doing the same. You don’t have to pay for a life coach, or be lucky enough to know one who’s looking for a guinea pig. All you need to do is think about a handful of the most important nouns to you, such as recognition, love, enjoyment, balance, optimism, belonging, creativity, determination, respect, achievement, security, authenticity, appreciation, sincerity, independence, and whatever other words are crucial to your wellbeing. And then try to do more of those and less of the other things.
In a way I’m kicking myself that it’s taken me 50 years to get here, but it’s better late than never I suppose, and I’m grateful that it all happened inadvertently. Having said that, if my freeing and empowering half-century changes lead me to leaving toilet roll dangling from my crotch, you’ll know I’ve taken it all a bit too far.
Sean Fletcher is a broadcaster and journalist
This week I’ve been
Running… I received a rather leftfield 50th birthday present from my family. My wife, daughter and son all looked a little nervous when I picked up the parcel. As I ripped open the wrapping paper my daughter told me that she came up with the idea while she was running, which made sense when I saw what it was. “Family entry for the Venice Half Marathon.” I smiled. Then laughed. The nervous looks on their faces turned to relief.
They had certainly taken a risk as I’ve been having a few middle-aged knee problems lately. But I’m not going to let a couple of dodgy knees get in my way. It’s a great present, and not a bad way to have a look around a city my wife and I have been meaning to visit for years. Kids keep you young don’t they?
Recording… one of the things I discovered in those life coaching sessions with my old uni friend is that having the chance to be creative is important to me. At school, I played the violin and piano, did music GCSE and A-level, and also passed my grade 7 singing exam, although you wouldn’t know it now if you ever sit next to me at a church service. I went on to train to be a music producer. However life pressures meant I put all of that on the backburner for a couple of decades, until I rekindled the music production aspect of my creativity in recent years. I produce my son’s music, in the DIY recording booth I hastily constructed at the start of lockdown to record TV voice overs during Covid. And I’ve been getting the same feelings of excitement I had had as a musical schoolboy.
Watching… alongside music, my other big schoolboy interest was playing and watching sport. At the heart of that was a love of my football team – Tottenham Hotspur. After a lifetime (my son’s lifetime) on the season ticket waiting list, I managed to get two seats in the stadium. So my son and I go to the home games, and occasionally get tickets for the away trips.
The other week we got up early and made the long journey from London to Newcastle for what was meant to be our team’s big push to secure Champions League football. After a 4-0 thrashing in our worst performance of the season we clapped our players, had a beer, and got back on the train for the long trip home. I can’t help wondering whether life would be easier if I didn’t follow Spurs. Thankfully Tottenham weren’t playing the weekend of my birthday.