Tag archives: authenticity
If you want to feel delightfully young and horrifically ancient at
the same time, go out on a Saturday night with your former roommate and your
husbands in the town you where you went to college.
This is the lesson I learned recently while sipping a sugary Long
Island iced tea the size of a Big Gulp (only $4!). This disgusting concoction seemed
like a great idea after four glasses of wine and a comment from the bartender that
I was old enough to be his mother.
OK, so that’s an exaggeration. What actually happened is I told the ...
It happens every September. That
moment when I notice how the sky has taken on a brilliant blue hue that happens
only in fall. The angle of the sun hits in a way that makes everything glow.
The air takes on a crispness even when the temps are high.
It’s at that moment each year when
my heart sings, full of joy I can hardly contain. Maybe it’s because I was born
in October, but fall has always been my favorite season. The world seems at its
When I entered my 40s two years
ago, I ...
Have you ever felt that confusing
feeling that you’ve slipped into some kind of time-warped parallel universe? I’m
not talking about time travel or even déjà vu. I’m referring to the feeling you
get when you are experiencing a moment from the viewpoint of yourself at two
different ages in time.
This past weekend I experienced a
trifecta of space-time weirdness when in the course of one evening, I felt 13,
22 and 41.
My husband and I went out for dinner and
drinks with my college and post-college roommate and her husband. At one point
“To thine own self be true.”
Shakespeare said it best. Of course, he
was a dude, and having a penis seems to make it easier to live by this
sentiment. (Yep, starting of this post with the “P” word!)
I’ve never met a woman of any age who
hasn’t struggled with being true to herself. From the time we are born, we seem
to spend our lives living up to others’ expectations and needs. The good news,
I’m finding, is that with age, we begin to listen to our needs. Or maybe it’s
that our needs ...
In preparation for the Mardi Gras celebration at my daughter’s
school, I found myself blowing up festive balloons in purple, green and gold
for a giant balloon drop. Who doesn’t love balloons, right?
Me, that’s who. In fact I hate them. It goes beyond hate. I’m
mildly terrified of them. Watching someone rub a balloon on their head and
stick it on the wall fills me with panic.
It’s an irrational fear that stems back to childhood when I watched
one of those giant punching balloons explode on my babysitter’s face as she