Someone recently mumbled something to me about being scared to hit 40. “Are you kidding me?” I answered. “40’s the best age yet.” I can say this because I’m, well, how do I put this gently–past 40. And I’m not ashamed to admit it. So maybe some of you under-40’s right now are raising your brows questionably, or secretly thinking I’m lying to the world as well as to myself. Or saying, “THAT chic just wishes she had her bikini-bod back like I do.” But nope, I’m sticking to my story. (Plus, in my mind at least, I don’t look that bad in a bikini). I like being 40-something, love it actually, and amazingly, so do all the other 40-something year-old women (and men) I’ve questioned. Read the rest »

Right around Thanksgiving, while I was five states away from home, I learned a valuable lesson. I think it occurred somewhere in between the argument with my mom, the disbelief at seeing my 94-year-old grandmother with her new “Alzheimer’s” personality, and the fact that, though I was having a good time in general, underneath I was still kind of pissed that I had to spend Thanksgiving (again) without a husband because he’d recently left me. And who is now “dating,” I might add. Anyway, the point is, I was feeling sorry for myself and did not feel like there was much at all to be thankful about. Au contraire.

So…I’m standing in line at a bustling Panera Bread in New Jersey with my mom, my three children, and my 23-year-old sister. My sister is young, attractive and full of life, has just begun a promising career as a nurse at a busy northeastern hospital, and everything I wish I could be again. As we’re waiting our turn to order lunch, I realize the guy ahead of us, who is about my sister’s age, has no right leg from the knee down. What’s left of it is wrapped in bright white gauze. I don’t know that he’s military, but it’s my best guess. And though this is extremely upsetting and sad to me, because I live in North Carolina and see military personnel somewhat regularly, it’s not the shock it might be to someone else. Read the rest »

It hit me like a ton of bricks. One minute we were arguing as usual, and the next? Divorced. Fifteen years of marriage gone in fifteen seconds flat. Well, not really, but that’s what it seemed like. And after telling the kids, the parents, the beloved and shocked friends, after going through the motions day after day after day, after being too numb to even cry and realizing that yet again, after so many years of hanging on, I was walking around in a body that carried a broken heart, it occurred to me—I’d actually been going through the divorce for fifteen years. This was just the paperwork. And I recognized that finally it was time to be me. And that felt really, really good. Read the rest »