My sister and I were talking the other day. I was home sick with a cold; she had the week off work. Out of the blue, something urged her to check in on me at the exact same time I happened to be walking by my often misplaced phone. I picked up and what ensued was a rare and extravagant two-hour conversation. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I...
I am a sucker for a dance floor. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t allowed to go to dances when I was young and I’m now trying to make up for it, or because dancing feels like the only appropriate response to hearing a great song, or because when you dance nobody cares who you are, or what the booty that you’re shaking looks like. Indifferent to one’s God, politics, economic...
So, I’m 51. As of yesterday, in fact. I had written an unrelated, non-birthday post for this week (a meandering that started with the word infidelity), but it all went out the window when my dear friend, Jill, sent me a celebratory text yesterday morning that ended with the imperative Wish Big! I welled up for a few seconds, taking in those two tiny words that held such beautiful, unencumbered...
Last weekend my friend celebrated her 50th birthday. After some back-and-forth planning, four of us headed to Olympic Spa in Los Angeles for an afternoon of cleansing and renewal. Naturally, I was excited for the respite and a chance to hang out with this remarkable trio of women, but I was also feeling rather anxious –it had been a long time since I was full-on naked. For the record, I...
There’s so much noise around turning 50. Does one deny being a half-century old? Embrace the achievement? Fight like the devil to turn back the clock? Without question, this age instigates a new chapter with bigger stakes and a growing sense of urgency. Given our youth-obsessed culture and my own compulsion to stay young, I wondered how honestly I could write about this milestone. Fifty on Fifty is my experiment.
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