Several weeks ago, a woman commented on an article I’d done about getting older vs. getting old. She told a story about taking a bad fall over a concrete curb, sitting there for a few moments, and then moving on.
For those of you who are fans of good chick movies, Fried Green Tomatoes is one of my favorites. The inimitable Kathy Bates has one of the best scenes in the entire film, when she slams her car into someone else’s and shouts “I have insurance!!!”
It was a lively bunch. The 12 people in my class were from a smaller company that provides conference services. It had recently been purchased by a much larger global corporation in November 2016.
It’s finally time to give yourself permission to play. But where on earth to begin?
With the plethora of choices available, the challenge is picking the perfect adventure. If you’ve never done this before it can be daunting. So much so that we can easily end up going to a safe default, like Hawaii. Or Florida. Or the next state over.
On July 8th, I made the decision to climb Mt. Kenya, the second largest mountain in Africa, at 17,053 feet high. Five years ago, I had made a similar commitment to do Kilimanjaro, and that decision changed my life forever.
The woman wrote in obvious distress that she was repeating herself. Felt depressed. Brain fog. Admitted to the occasional suicidal thought. She was terrified she was getting Alzheimer’s’ disease. At this point, she is committing to a long, possibly painful and confusing process of testing at a major university.
The four Indonesian boys, all small but ranging in age from 12 to 14, led us along a tree-lined path. The fenceposts to either side of us as we left the island village were sprouting trees, a testament to the proliferating growth and superb soil of these many islands.
I lay on the comfortable bed in the dark, listening to the birds outside. Most of the time I was sleeping.
Marion and Roger, a pair of Brits from 40 miles west of London, boarded the ship carefully. They’re in their 70s, and both are intrepid travelers.
A few years ago, I spoke to a lively group of women that had been started by my friend Joan Rogliano, a divorced realtor living in Colorado. The Wildflower Group had been formed out of a need for an organization to tend to the needs of recently-widowed and divorced women.