Do you ever wonder how many years you have left on this earth? I don’t think about it too often, but a couple weeks ago I got older again. Of all the f-words in the world, this one always felt the most unnerving. I thought 30 sounded like a real adult. I didn’t mind 40. But 50? Thoughts race and distress creeps. How did I get here already? Half a century? Does that mean I’m half-expired? I seriously thought getting older would take longer. Oh my gosh, what will the young people think? My party of pity is interrupted with an inaudible voice: Whoa there, chica. Are you complaining about…