One thing I’ve noticed about my late 50s is: change is possible. Directions I slavishly followed because they had been cast in stone years ago are easily reversed if they are dragging me down. Rules I loyally adhered to are tossed when they become too burdensome. Trapped revolving, icky information that used to take days to sift through is discarded in three hours. I don’t have the time or the energy to waste dwelling on the wrong side of things. I adjust if necessary, and that is a benefit to moving further from the left side of 50.
Of course, there is irony in the whole process. Because as my inner psyche experiences this newfound freedom and liberation, my outer self is undergoing a cataclysm. It seems that the contours of my face and body are moving in a wildly different, quite unknown direction. I guess there are always trade-offs.