This morning, I posted something I was thinking about on Instagram. I wasn’t really focusing on it too intently, just typed out a couple of sentences and hit “Share.” But when I reread the post, I felt I had been accidentally wise for a second.
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“Here’s a question,” I said to Kate and Samie as we were working out on the backyard aerial rigs. It was a chilly October morning, the silks were dancing in the breeze, and for the moment, all seemed right with the world. But I couldn’t fully enjoy the morning until I got an answer to the question that had kept me up the night before.
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Can you remember the last time you were completely free of worry and care? Before Covid? Before you had kids? Before you bought your first house? Before high school? Even longer ago than that?
I remember being six or seven, doing handstands in a neighbor’s yard on an early Saturday morning, and having nothing in the world on my mind except trying to stay upside down for as long as possible and waiting for my friends to wake up so they could come out and play. I miss that feeling — the belief, so ingrained that you’re not even consciously aware of it, that everything is just the way it’s supposed to be and that it’s a grand old world. Until a few days ago, that’s what I thought feeling carefree meant: absolutely no worries and all was right with the world.
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So I did this crazy thing. I wrote a book. It took me a month.
No, seriously. One day I was heading to the mountains to go snowboarding with my son; he was sleeping, and I didn’t want to play the radio. I had the kernel of an idea for a book tickling my brain, so what I did with the silence in the car was to begin writing it in my head. I wrote three chapters on the drive to the mountains; on the way home, I told it to myself, as though it was a story I had once heard. When I sat down to write it out the next day, the whole thing was still there, complete.
And the story kept pouring out of me, every day for a month. I told my friend De Anna that the writing was so easy that it couldn’t possibly be any good, but she said I was Continue reading
As an exercise in I don’t know what (halting boredom in its tracks, maybe), I spent some time this morning looking back on my blogging career to see what I could see. And what I learned was: Continue reading
So I’m learning a thing lately. (No, I’m not talking about a thing in silks class, though I can show you some videos if you like.) Anyway, I’m learning something and, by golly, I feel great! Continue reading
When I was a kid, I had a Wonder Woman outfit. Not the cheap plastic-y kind you get from a Halloween store today, but a homemade, kick-ass one: blue shorts with ironed-on white stars (unevenly cut out by my seven-year-old hands), a white t-shirt with red stripes, and a length of twine wrapped around a belt loop for a magic lasso.
Best of all: bullet-deflecting silver bracelets my brother Tim cut for me out of an empty Continue reading
This is a weird time. It’s sad and scary. It’s colorful and creative. It’s overwhelming and enlightening and stimulating and freeing. And exhausting – mustn’t forget exhausting.
My daughter left for college last month. She is a couple thousand miles away, and let me tell you, it’s just weird. It’s a big deal, but not necessarily in the way I thought it was going to be.
Quiz: which woman is the adult?
After I began writing this, I clicked away from the page to read a text. When I clicked back to the word doc, it was blank. My well-thought-out opening paragraphs were not there. Why? Because I hadn’t actually written them. I’d composed them only in my head, though I kind of remembered writing them… Now, as a mature (hah!) woman of 49, I find myself increasingly concerned with what it means to be a grownup, and I wonder if spending so much time living life in my head proves I’ve never achieved adulthood. Have you? Cause I think I’m missing some adult section of my brain that most of you possess. Continue reading
You may remember my decisions to join a roller derby and learn to play ice hockey awhile back. While thrilling to think about, I never followed up – and unfortunately I used my lack of follow-through to beat myself up for being an unmotivated hot mess, especially since I haven’t really exercised on a regular basis since I broke my ankle three years ago. Then I tried pole dancing, and that was great but it made me nauseas and I never went back. Well, I’ve got a new obsession. And it’s the superest invention in all the world. (Superest should definitely be a word if it isn’t already.)
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Sharing Angels, Love and Light to all willing to receive healing from The Divine
Writer ---- Editor ---- Digital Content Specialist
A Middleaged Woman's Guide to Style & Lifestyle
A blog full of humorous and poignant observations.
Soft Gothic Glam
A Middleaged Woman's Guide to Style & Lifestyle
A Middleaged Woman's Guide to Style & Lifestyle
Beauty products and Accessory finds and reviews and a little peek into my Life.
Definition of Turnaround: complete change from a bad situation to a good situation, from one way of thinking to an opposite way of thinking.
IF I CAN'T BE A DRAGON-WHISPERER, CAN I AT LEAST HAVE A TALKING DOG?
How to be authentic and beautiful in our middle years
A Middleaged Woman's Guide to Style & Lifestyle
A Middleaged Woman's Guide to Style & Lifestyle
