Tag: #WhoAmINow

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.