Redisovering Myself: The start of a sudden Retirement

Tag: love

  • The School Year Ends… and So Does Another Chapter

    There’s something about the end of a school year that hits differently when you’re older.

    When my granddaughters were little, summer meant swimming, popsicles, and trying to keep everyone alive until bedtime. Now suddenly, my oldest granddaughter is becoming a senior in high school… and the youngest will be a sophomore.

    Excuse me while I go stare blankly into the abyss because I’m pretty sure they were both just in elementary school last Thursday.

    How did that happen?

    Somewhere between school pickups, careers, family dinners, grief, bills, menopause, and trying to remember why I walked into a room, the years quietly slipped by.

    And here I am — standing in another season of change.

    Larry and I just celebrated our 45th wedding anniversary.

    Forty-five years.

    At this point we’ve been married long enough that romance looks less like candlelight dinners and more like:
    “Did you remember to order the air filters?”
    and
    “Thanks for filling up my car.”

    Honestly, true love is finding someone who still speaks to you after assembling furniture together.

    We’ve built a life through all the ordinary moments that eventually become the story of a marriage: raising children, surviving hard seasons, laughing until we cried, paying bills we didn’t want, and figuring out that sometimes marriage is simply refusing to become a Dateline episode.

    When you reach this stage of life, you start realizing how much of living is made up of transitions.

    Children grow up.
    Grandchildren grow older.
    Parents leave us too soon.

    And somehow we’re still here trying to figure out who the hell we’re becoming next.

    I just returned from a girls trip with my daughter and granddaughters.Years ago, I would have spent weeks stressing over packing lists, schedules, snacks, backup snacks, and whether everyone else was having a good time.

    Now?
    I’m just grateful I still get invited.

    And grateful I’m physically capable of surviving a girls trip at an age where one bad hotel pillow can take me out for three days.

    But honestly, this season of life has surprised me.

    Because despite the losses and changes, there are still new beginnings waiting for us.

    Lately, I’ve felt that deeply.

    I invested in a new computer and a new embroidery machine, and I’m genuinely excited about the possibility of starting a new business. But terrified too.

    There’s something humbling about learning new technology at this age. Every machine now requires passwords, updates, syncing, apps, subscriptions, Bluetooth, Wi-Fi, and apparently a blood sample.

    But underneath the frustration, there’s excitement.

    Because maybe this stage of life isn’t about winding down.

    Maybe it’s about finally giving ourselves permission to try the things we always said we would “someday.”

    And, I’ve also started quilting again.

    This one reaches a little deeper.

    My mom loved quilting. Before cancer changed everything, she was trying to teach me. At the time, I don’t think I fully understood she was handing me more than fabric and thread. She was passing down patience. Creativity. Comfort. Pieces of herself.

    Now when I sit down with fabric in my hands, I think about her constantly. Funny how grief works like that.

    Sometimes it crashes into you unexpectedly.
    And sometimes it quietly sits beside you while you sew.

    This season feels different for me.

    Not an ending.
    Not exactly a beginning either.

    More like rediscovering parts of myself that got buried under responsibility, survival, caregiving, and years of putting everyone else first.

    And maybe that’s what my sudden retirement and this stage of life are really teaching me:

    There is no expiration date on joy.
    No age limit on creativity.
    No deadline for starting over.

    Not at 50.
    Not at 60.

    And certainly not while Amazon still delivers craft supplies directly to my front door at alarming speeds.

  • “I’m 67 and Have No Idea Who I Am (And That’s Okay)

    So here I am at 67, staring at a calendar full of absolutely nothing, and honestly? It’s terrifying. For decades, I’ve been Mom, Wife, Employee, Volunteer Coordinator, Chief Household Manager, and Professional Worrier. Now suddenly I’m just… me. But who the heck is that?

    The Great Passion Hunt (Spoiler Alert: It’s Messier Than Expected)

    Everyone keeps asking, “Are you getting to spend a lot of time on all your passions?” Um, excuse me? The last time I had a passion that wasn’t related to keeping someone else alive, fed, or out of trouble was probably 1982 when I was really into shoulder pads.

    I’ve been trying to rediscover my interests like some sort of archaeological dig through my own soul. So far I’ve unearthed:

    • A dusty easel from my “artistic phase” (lasted three weeks)
    • Recipe books I bought but never opened (apparently I was going to become a gourmet chef)
    • Boxes full of unfinished sewing and cross-stitch projects

    The problem is that for the past 40-something years, my biggest passion has been making sure everyone else could pursue theirs. Now they’re telling me it’s “my turn,” and I’m over here like a deer in headlights, except the deer is wearing sensible shoes and has no idea what it wants to be when it grows up.

    The Identity Crisis No One Warned Me About

    Turns out, when you spend most of your adult life being defined by your relationships to other people, figuring out who you are solo is like trying to remember your password from 2003. You know it’s in there somewhere, but good luck accessing it.

    The Art of Prioritizing Absolutely Everything (Because Everything Is Now Possible)

    The freedom is overwhelming. Do I finally learn French? Take up pottery? Travel to places where I can’t pronounce the food? Join that book club where they actually read the books? Start a podcast about how confused I am?

    I made a list of all the things I’ve always wanted to do. It’s currently 47 items long and includes everything from “learn to tango” to “organize the junk drawer” (yes, I put that on my passion list – judge me). The problem is that when everything is possible, how do you choose anything?

    I’ve started prioritizing by the “Why Not?” method. Someone suggests watercolor classes? Why not? Someone mentions a workout group? Why not? Friend talks about volunteer work at the animal shelter? Why not? At this rate, I’ll be busier than I was when I had a job and three teenagers.

    Does It Really Matter at 67?

    Here’s the thing that’s both liberating and slightly depressing: at 67, I’ve reached the age where a lot of things just don’t matter anymore.

    Do I care if I’m not good at pottery? Nope. Will I worry about looking foolish in that dance class? Not really. Am I concerned about starting over in a completely new field? Surprisingly, no.

    There’s something wonderfully freeing about reaching the age where you realize that most of the stuff you spent years worrying about was just noise. Will I master the guitar at 67? Probably not. Will I have fun making terrible sounds and annoying everyone else? Absolutely.

    The beauty of being 67 and suddenly free is that failure isn’t scary anymore – it’s just data. Bad at painting? Now I know. Terrible at yoga? Good information. Can’t remember the steps to line dancing? Join the club (literally – apparently, forgetting the steps is part of the charm).

    The Plot Twist: Maybe I’m Already Enough

    Here’s what I’m slowly figuring out: maybe the point isn’t to discover some hidden passion I’ve been suppressing for decades. Maybe the point is to realize that the person who spent 40 years taking care of everyone else is actually pretty amazing, and now she gets to take care of herself.

    Maybe my passion is finally sleeping in without guilt. Maybe it’s reading entire books without interruption. Maybe it’s having conversations that don’t involve schedules, carpools, or anyone else’s problems.

    Or maybe my passion is writing rambling blog posts about how confused I am and discovering that other people are just as confused, which somehow makes it all feel less scary and more like an adventure.

    The Bottom Line (Or What I’m Telling Myself Today)

    At 67, I’m learning that reinventing yourself doesn’t have to mean becoming someone completely new. Sometimes it just means finally having the time and space to be the person you always were underneath all those other roles.

    And if that person wants to take up beekeeping, learn Italian, and eat ice cream for breakfast? Well, why not? I’ve earned the right to be exactly as weird and wonderful as I want to be.

    Besides, at my age, what’s the worst that could happen? I might actually enjoy myself.

    So here’s to all of us who are suddenly free and completely terrified. Here’s to finding out that “I don’t know” might just be the most honest answer we’ve given in decades.

    And here’s to discovering that maybe – just maybe – the best plot twist of all is finally becoming the main character in your own story.

    Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a junk drawer calling my name. Apparently, some passions really don’t die.

  • A Lifetime of Memories: From the 40s to Today

    The Emotional roller coaster of Sorting Through Decades of Family Memorabilia

    If you ever want to truly test your emotional resilience, try going through decades of family memorabilia. It’s like opening a time capsule—but with more random knick-knacks, a baffling number of strange holiday ornaments, and way too many mixed emotions. After sorting through my parents’ items and my husband’s family treasures, I’ve learned that organizing family history isn’t just about tidying up—it’s like taking a sentimental stroll through the past. Some moments are laugh-out-loud funny, some are bittersweet, and some… well, some make you wonder, “What in the world were we thinking?” Seriously, who thought it was a good idea to keep that one sock for 40 years? But hey, at least it’s a conversation starter.
    Here’s a glimpse of how we got to this point and what we’ve discovered along the way.

    The Beginning: Our Parents in the 40s and 50s

    Let’s rewind to the 1940s. My parents and my husband’s parents grew up during a time of war, but also in a post-war world filled with hope and change. By the 50s, they were wide-eyed, ambitious young adults stepping into a world full of promise.

    My parents eloped in 1957, which always cracks me up. I picture them as the original rebels, rushing off to start their life together—probably irritating their families in the process. They loved having family gatherings, and that love of family ran through much of their lives. Even when things weren’t perfect, they tackled life with enthusiasm and purpose.

    My husband’s parents also carved out their own adventure, navigating a rapidly changing world. Looking through their old family albums, everyone’s faces seem frozen in moments of uncertainty and excitement. It’s a glimpse into a world so different from today, but filled with the same emotions—love, fear, and a universal desire to create something bigger than themselves.

    The 60s: A Time of Change

    Moving into the 1960s, I was just a kid, but the world around us was shifting rapidly. The moon landing, civil rights movements, and the rise of countercultures created a climate of optimism and uncertainty. We were experiencing a growing awareness of how big and complicated the world was.

    For us as kids, there was excitement over new technology—like audio cassettes, push-button telephones, and The Beatles—but also an underlying sense that things were changing in ways we didn’t fully understand.

    The 70s: Disco, Polyester, and Growing Up

    Now, let’s talk about the 1970s. Growing up in the 70s was like living through cultural upheavals, social movements, and way too much polyester. My husband and I both share that experience. The world seemed on the brink of something huge, and we were just trying to keep up.

    We spent our youth listening to records, watching black-and-white TV that suddenly came alive with color, and trying to figure out where we fit in this changing world. It was a time of promise, but also plenty of “What on earth is going on?” moments. And, of course, the disco craze was in full swing—Saturday Night Fever, anyone? You could hardly escape the boogie beats and the polyester pants that no one wore after 1981.

    The 80s: Big Hair, Neon, and Parenting

    By the 80s, we were no longer teenagers. Now, we were the parents. Suddenly, the world was less about us and more about raising kids. The 80s brought big hair, neon clothes, and—let’s be honest—some truly questionable fashion choices. Mullets, anyone?

    And don’t even get me started on the “family photo” moments. Those awkward photos where your kids were either making peace signs or pretending to be “too cool for school.” At the time, we thought we were totally on point. Now, they’re just a hilarious reminder of how much we thought we had it together.

    The 90s: Raising Teenagers, and the World Turns

    The 90s brought its own challenges. Our kids were teenagers, and suddenly, it felt like the world was flipping upside down. The rise of grunge and boy bands, combined with the creeping presence of the internet, made everything feel more chaotic. But amid the teenage rebellion and eye rolls, there were also plenty of beautiful family moments—vacations, reunions, and those holiday traditions that kept us together.
    That perfect holiday photo? It took hours of bribery and begging, but it was worth it when we finally got the whole family in one shot.

    The 2000s: College Years and More Change

    By the late 90s and early 2000s, our kids were off to college. The house felt emptier than ever, and no amount of family memorabilia could fill that space. But as they moved on, so did we. The 2000s brought technology in ways we hadn’t imagined—like cell phones, which were both a blessing and a curse. Gone were the days of waiting for a weekly phone call; now, it was an endless stream of “Are you okay?” “How’s your day?” and “Did you eat lunch yet?”

    The 2010s and 2020s: Saying Goodbye, Reflecting on the Past, and Dealing with COVID

    The 2010s brought milestones but also loss. My parents passed away in the early 2020s, and my husband lost his parents in the late 90s. Then came the global pandemic of 2020, which shook everything up. Family gatherings, work, and even school had to be rethought. Despite isolation, we found ways to connect—through Zoom calls, virtual gatherings, and outdoor visits.
    COVID taught us a lot about resilience and the importance of family, but it also gave us the opportunity to make the best of a situation that included 14 consecutive hours of Netflix.

    What Do You Do With All of This?

    Now, we’re left with a treasure trove of photos, cards, keepsakes, and reminders of lives lived. At times, it feels overwhelming, and there’s a fleeting thought of just tossing it all. But then, you open a box, find an old love letter, or a picture of your parents on a special day, and that joy and hope hit you. These are the moments that made up a life.

    So, we preserve it. We honor it. We laugh at the oddities—ugly sweaters, 80s mullets, and those photos where we’re all smiling like we actually had our lives together (we didn’t). But most of all, we pass it down, sharing our family’s stories with the next generation, so they’ll have a history to look back on someday, too.

    What About You?

    Do you have a stack of family treasures gathering dust, or have you found a creative way to preserve your family’s memories? I’d love to hear your stories and tips in the comments—let’s keep the conversation going!

  • “Living Vicariously Through Everyone Else’s Spring Break”

    Ah, spring break—the time when everyone else is soaking up the sun, jet-setting to exotic destinations, and escaping the daily grind. Meanwhile, back at home, my daughter and teenage granddaughters are on their own spring break and  living their best lives, lounging like they’re auditioning for a spa commercial. As for me? I’m playing personal chef, cranking out takeout meals like I own a culinary UberEats business. Oh, and did I mention I’m also house-sitting her pets? The cats demand more attention than a reality TV diva, and the dog seems to have forgotten what “personal space” means. But hey, I love them—clearly, I do, or I wouldn’t be playing maid to their furry kingdom.

    And then there’s my brother—oh, my brother. He’s been regaling me with extremely important tales of how he didn’t get to go to Florida for spring break when he was young. Now, here’s the twist: back in the late 70s, he partied like it was 1999… every single weekend. Apparently, he’s still processing the deep, lifelong trauma of missing out on beach parties he technically never needed. So, in a grand act of redemption, he insists that he must go to Florida this year to make up for it. (I’m pretty sure there’s a midlife crisis mixed in there somewhere, but I didn’t ask for details.) Meanwhile, my angel of a sister-in-law and I are doing our best to talk him out of it—gently reminding him, with all the love in the world, why this could be a terrible idea.  Honestly, if he weren’t so passionate about everything, I might miss these entertaining rants.

    Then there’s my husband—bless his heart. Between hanging ceiling fans and changing light bulbs in every room (I swear, the man’s keeping the entire electrical industry in business), he’s been reminding me, oh, every five minutes about our must-do trip to Saguaro National Park in Arizona. He’s convinced that hiking among the saguaro cacti is the ultimate spring break experience. And while I get it—the park is stunning—I can’t help but wonder if we could maybe squeeze a beach into that itinerary. Perhaps I’ll tell him the cacti are looking for new friends and need a break from all the attention. But of course, I’ll think about going, because I love him. (And maybe because I’m dying to watch him struggle with a GPS in the middle of the desert)

    Meanwhile, I’m here at home, wishing I could be anywhere else. The only “vacation” I’m getting is from deep-cleaning photos and memorabilia from the past 40 years. Every corner of the house looks like it’s been untouched since my last real vacation—which, let’s face it, was about a decade ago. As I continue my “rage-cleaning” session, I’m starting to wonder if I’ve invented a new workout routine. But honestly, I’m thankful for these little vacation moments, even if they come with a mop, a broom, and enough patience to qualify for sainthood.

    So here I am—cooking, cleaning, house-sitting, and pretending this is my version of spring break. At least there’s wine. Love you all, even if I do need a nap… and a beach… somewhere far, far away.    😎