But here's the secret sauce for exceptional decision making. Decision making that will end analysis paralysis. Choose the path that has your mind, body, and spirit yelling "Hell yes - I want that" in unison, with wild abandon. 

I used to think that being guarded was cool and tough. I used to think that I would be safe if I didn't let anyone get to me. I was missing the big picture. Guarded is cool, tough, and safe but it's also lonely. 

I've fallen in love at first sight a few times in my life. As an accountant, that's hard to admit. It makes no damn sense. But when I consider my closest relationships, human and beast, I loved most of them at first sight. 

As a widow, it picks my ass when people tell me that I need to be alone, learn to be comfortable with loneliness, find myself, love myself, blah, blah. Fuck. Off. 

There's a profound difference between intentionally taking on a challenge and a shocking blast that rocks the bedrock of life. But I've discovered a few things that help me navigate change regardless of its magnitude or source. 

I quit setting goals. Not because I've recovered from being Type A (from what I can tell, that's a hard-wired condition). I found something more powerful. My "I would be thrilled if..." list. Until that list, my goals were decidedly realistic. I unwittingly reverse engineered what I thought was possible. 

Even though death is a relentless mother fucker who comes for us all, he comes bearing gifts. He'll help you get your priorities straight in one broken heartbeat.

I've been on my own for almost a year. I'm not a fan. I miss every kind of intimacy. I've been told that I should stay single. It picks my ass so it's probably true. (pause to consider deleting that because I'm resisting the shit out of it. soldier on.)

It's coming up on a year since my husband died. A heart attack out of the clear blue sky on a random Tuesday. I've been reflecting on our marriage and am filled with gratitude or regret depending on the day and my blood sugar level.

I've been joking that God hates me, what with my husband dropping dead and other challenges that hit close to 10 on my personal richter scale.

I have a tendency to put lipstick on pigs. The new lingo is "toxic positivity". In general, positivity is positive. But occasionally, I need some good old-fashioned negativity. Some righteous indignation. Some anger.

Saying "my first two husbands" in the same breath as contemplating a third makes me think of taking up smoking and wearing diamonds and furs. And that I should come with a warning label.

The price of joy is pain. Because everything comes to an end one way or another. So bring on the fucking pain.

I've been taking this fulfillment thing too far. Time for some pleasure.

I'm free. I have no husband, my girls are independent of my daily care, and work is a want instead of a need. There were times when I longed for this freedom. 

Seven months as a widow. The longest stretch that I've been single since I was 16 years old.

I’ve spent years in the waiting place. Waiting in a career that no longer inspires me, waiting in an unhealthy relationship, waiting until I have more money.