Tag: writing

Posted on

SO THIS IS 55

Today I pause.

Fifty‑five years — it looks like a big number on paper, but it doesn’t feel like it lives in my bones. When I look back, though, I see just how full those years have been. I’ve lived, loved, worked, stumbled, learned, and kept going. It’s been a packed life, and I’m grateful for every version of myself who carried me to this one.

Aging is strange. Part of me still wants to be 29 forever, but there are perks to growing older. Becoming a grandparent is one of them — watching your own children build their lives, raise their kids, and succeed in ways you once only hoped for. It’s like getting to relive the sweetness of their childhood without the pressure of being the one responsible for everything.

With age comes a kind of wisdom you can’t fake. You survive enough obstacles to realize they aren’t dead ends; they’re stepping stones. Some mornings I look in the mirror and think, When did I start looking like this? Other mornings I catch a glimpse of myself and think, Hey, not bad for 55. That’s life — some days lift you, some days humble you.

I’ve had my share of challenges, but I’m also aware that others carry burdens I can’t imagine. People who have lost children, battled addiction, or endured heartbreak that reshapes them. My heart goes out to them. Their strength reminds me to stay grateful.

One of the greatest gifts of my life came late: I found real love. The kind that feels steady, safe, and fun all at once. My partner is my best friend, the person I want to talk to, laugh with, and experience everything beside. It took me fifty years to find him, but he was worth the wait.

I’m lucky in family, too. My parents are still here. My siblings are still here. My nieces and nephews are thriving. We’ve lost one brother‑in‑law and miss him deeply, but we’ve also gained another who brings his own kind of goodness into our lives. He doesn’t replace anyone — he simply adds to the story.

My life didn’t follow the path I once imagined. I dreamed of working for a major sports team, but becoming a single mother changed everything. And honestly, I wouldn’t trade it. Watching my daughter build the life she wanted — a career she loves, a marriage she cherishes, beautiful children — that has been the real dream come true.

I’ve collected friends from every corner of life: wealthy, struggling, famous, unknown, local, international, and even a few who are incarcerated. One of them emailed me yesterday to wish me a happy birthday. She hasn’t seen me in two years, yet she remembered. That message meant more than she’ll ever know.

I know today matters to my parents, too. A child’s birthday is always a parent’s milestone. So to them: thank you. I honor you today.

As I step into the next 55 years, I want to love more, spend less, be honest, and stay true to who I am. There’s a freedom in not worrying about what people think — in knowing that happiness is something you build from the inside out. No person, no thing, no amount of money can hand it to you. It’s a mindset, a choice, a practice.

So I’m choosing to enjoy the small, beautiful things.

To walk through the neighborhood and notice the trees.

To admire the different ways people shape their yards.

To sit in a park and look up at the sky.

To listen to birds, watch chipmunks dart around, and remember that the world is full of tiny wonders if you slow down long enough to see them.

This is 55.

Not perfect, not polished — but honest, grateful, and very much alive.

Posted on

Year 2: The Path to My Authentic Self

Over the past year, I have documented my journey from a low point to discovering a brighter future. While my story may not be miraculous, it is sincere and intended to inspire others to persevere, even when the end seems out of reach.

As I conclude the first year of sharing my experiences, I am committed to maintaining authenticity with myself and my audience. It is crucial for my readers to understand that their struggles do not define them negatively as individuals. Most importantly, I want people to recognize that each day presents a new opportunity for change. Regardless of one’s circumstances, transformation is possible. I have witnessed individuals transition from incarceration and homelessness to homeownership. Though it may seem implausible, there are countless stories of remarkable personal turnarounds. I aspire to be one of those stories. By sharing my journey, along with the courageous stories of those I have met along the way, I aim to encourage others to embrace their true selves as I navigate the challenges of transitioning from inauthenticity to self-acceptance.

I invite you to join me as I embark on the second year of what I consider an extraordinary life.

Posted on

Remember The Inherent Worth of Every Individual

From the moment I saw her, I felt an instant dislike. She had a rugged appearance, with tattoos covering her face, neck, and arms. Her walk exuded a cockiness that made it clear she wouldn’t take nonsense from anyone. She spent her time smoking and asserting her powerful presence in the yard.

Whenever I encountered a new inmate, my first thought was always, “What did they do to end up here?” My initial assumptions were usually “drugs” or “DUI.” However, as I got to know more about people, I realized their stories were often much more complex.

One woman was in for theft and trespassing after living in a deceased man’s house for over a year. His family, who lived out of state, were waiting for the courts to settle his estate before putting the house on the market. In the meantime, the fully furnished house sat vacant. She knew about his family situation and decided to move in. While living there, she found a collection of rare coins, which she pawned to buy groceries. Another woman was in for arson after setting her condescending boss’s house and cars on fire in an act of revenge.

However, most of the women I met had done things many others have done – shoplifting a shirt, driving home from happy hour buzzed, or falsely applying for unemployment and food stamps because their current jobs didn’t pay the rent. They just happened to be the unlucky ones who got caught. Regardless of the cause, guilty or innocent, during my stay, I realized that every single person means something to somebody.

One day, as I was returning from work, the gate officer was letting a family in for a weekday visit. We stood in line patiently, waiting for the guests to be processed. Soon, a little boy, about four years old, came running through the gates toward the visiting area. He was yelling, “Mom! Mom! I’m here! I finally get to see you! Mom! It’s me, I’m here!” He was calling for his mother, whom he hadn’t seen in who knows how long. He was so excited that he couldn’t hold back, even though she was inside and couldn’t see or hear him. All of us witnessing this tender moment couldn’t help but shed some tears. The reunion hit home for all of us who were missing our families and friends. After a couple of minutes, his mother came out of the visiting area door – it was the rugged lady I had assumed was just a nobody acting tough for attention. However, she was a mother, loved, missed, and needed by this little boy.