Have you ever heard the phrase, “until the Age of 50, you are building your house. After that, you are living in it”?

Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest, founder of the Center for Action & Contemplation and author of FALLING UPWARD, A Spirituality for the Two Halves of Life, describes this metaphorical house as a container. He says we are building our container until we reach our fifties. We construct it with our children, degrees, homes, cars, titles and all the outward shiny pieces of ourselves we use to impress the world.

Up until your fifties, if someone asks you about yourself, you probably tell them about your container. You might say your title, your marital status, how many kids you have, where you live, the schools you attended and maybe a couple hobbies.

Rohr says, and I am paraphrasing here, that once our container is built, we then decide what we want to fill it with, and he says this is the crisis of entering our fifties. The material world doesn’t provide that same feeling of reward it used to. We search for something deeper. This is where it gets really interesting. Inside our container is who we really are, our true selves.

These are our core values and beliefs and how we find meaning and purpose. The contents within our container are our hopes, fears, dreams and special gifts. They are the essence of us, who the world will be without when we are gone.

I am in my sixth year of being in my fifties and still in a state of wonder about the changes that have occurred. Yes, I am constantly asking people, “are you hot? I’m hot. You don’t think it’s hot in here?” I’ve also switched exclusively to platform heels. My days of stilettos were numbered before the pandemic, but now they are officially over.

I see my hairstylist much more frequently and prefer to have dinner earlier, but these are all superficial changes. The real change is bigger and better than any prior stage of life, and yet nobody tells you about your post-container building years. In my opinion, they are the richest although, at least for me, they have also been, at times, the loneliest.

Whenever I have done the Myers Briggs test, I have always been labeled an INTJ. I have even tried to trick and answer slightly differently, which apparently is a typical INTJ thing to do. Always the same results though, straight up INTJ.

I don’t remember what all the letters mean, but anyone I have ever spoken with, who knows me, has the same reaction, “there’s no way you’re an I.” I stands for introvert. People tend to see me as an extrovert.

Part of that is my early training. Like a child who is fluent in English but who has parents who speak another language, I served as spokesperson and translator for my family. They had a genuine discomfort with people, so I would be put forward to speak on everyone’s behalf. I know how to do extrovert, but that is not who I am.

Like most introverts, I would prefer a deep and meaningful conversation with one person rather than small talk with a hundred people. The former fills my cup; the latter drains it.

This has been most evident in the last five years or so. You see, while I’ve always been an introvert, I’m definitely more of a container contents gal now. By that I mean, yes, I see you have a container. I am impressed by your container, but that is not what I know is most magical about you. I know there is so much more there, and I would love for you to share it. You won’t though if you are a container person.

Please know, I love that you went to that prestigious school. I am so happy for you that your children are doing so well. Yes, please, tell me how much you love your beach house and your boat. I want to hear about your trip to Europe and see your gorgeous new car.

Now, can we get to the good stuff? The real stuff? Can we talk about the things that provide real connection? Can we be vulnerable with each other? Can we be honest and talk about worries and fears?

My post fifty self has felt very alone at times, because in this new phase of life, container talk leaves me feeling empty. If what I know about you could also be found through a google search or your LinkedIn page, well then, I am feeling a little unfulfilled.

Real connection is so grounding. It makes you feel less alone. You feel felt, heard and seen. The humble brag and constant talk of accomplishments and awards feel like those orange and white stripe barrels you see at construction sites on the highway. They are barriers to building a real relationship.

I’m not suggesting we start our conversation with our existential crisis or how our anxiety stems from our potty training. That’s not it. Brené Brown says the sharing of ourselves should be like Christmas lights – little pieces here and there and not a giant spotlight. I am so honored when someone shares a small piece of themselves with me. It really is what makes them sparkly, no matter how beautiful their container is.