Next week, I turn 50, a more passionate goal than I care to admit.

And as I’ve neared that marathon tape, I’ve found myself upbeat, centered, ready to tackle the next 50 a more wizened, patient soul. A better man.

Then the American Association of Retired Persons had to try to squat on the moment.

The card arrived last week, though I’m still, technically, 49. I have no idea how they figured out my birthday. They never sent a card before.

But there It was. In my mail, red as a railroad crossing and sealed with the care of an American Express Platinum card. My buddy Dan, born a week after, sent a smoke signal warning. His arrived the same day, and he texted what loomed.

I guess I knew It was coming. But, as a boy, I remember thinking: “That’s an old people’s card. You don’t get that unless you’re a hundred. Or at least born in the olden days, like before 1965.

And I began to wonder: Do people apply the moment they are eligible, like 16-year-olds do with a driver’s license? Or is it an admission of wrinkles, a truce with Father Time? Not necessarily a defeat. In a way, the card could say: “You made it. You survived this merciless world and daytime TV for a half century.

And at what point does our wisdom clash with ego? Eventually, it seems, the pragmatic must overcome the proud. Millions of Americans decide that, while having to admit we qualify for a senior’s advantages, that is a pretty good discount at Motel 6.

So I started looking into statistics. What’s the typical age of an enrollee? A member?

Not surprisingly, there are few hard numbers. When you Google AARP, you’re inundated with analytics and advertisements about the benefits of just a $19.99 annual fee. As a reporter, I realized I could simply drop a note to the folks at AARP and ask. I had the address, postage paid, right there on the return envelope.

Then I remembered I had ripped into the paperwork into fine shreds, and sheared the card in half. If I could, I probably would have clipped It into 49 shards.

Ok, I overreacted. But I’m just forty nine. Blame it on the rebellion of youth.