I just hiked 41 miles of the Pacific Crest Trail, the 2,650 mile trail running along the US West Coast from the Mexican to Canadian border. Don't let my smile deceive you. It was damn hard. The heat, the distance, the heavy pack, the elevation, the dehydrated food. And don't let the kindly look of my hiking partner deceive you. He's as hardcore as they come, a military man and "through hiker" (a.k.a. bad-ass hiking the full length of the trail), as opposed to me, a "section hiker" (a.k.a. wimpy-ass not hiking the full length of the trail).

Semi-retired. My skin crawls at the word. I've never been "semi" anything. Throughout my life, every nook and cranny were filled with the pursuit of one all-consuming passion or another from building my career, to raising my girls and puppies, to intense athletic challenges. I filled any gaps that might otherwise have included rest and relaxation with renovating and moving homes. My oldest had lived in 5 homes by the age of 5.

I have a lump in my throat looking at this picture. My youngest is graduating, heading across the water to my alma mater, UBC. Motherhood continues but changes shape enough that this feels like an ending. It's my most recent ending in a bloody long string of them from a dead husband to pulling the pin on major projects and important relationships.

Someone stole my identity. My sister asked me if I was in Portugal. I was confused. What are you talking about? We had lunch together yesterday. Apparently Facebook-me was in Portugal. Lucky her. Real-me isn't on Facebook. It's next to impossible to get off Facebook. If you're looking for immortality, create a Facebook account.

My conscious mind has been self-helping for decades, reading books, listening to podcasts, doing countless hours of talk-therapy and coaching. And while I still love all that, I've discovered something in the last few years. My conscious mind don't know shit.

So nap like nobody's watching. Because nobody's watching. And then get your valuable and divine ass of the couch. Because you're worth it.

We were chatting over what would be his last breakfast. He wanted us to take more romantic getaways - a habit we had gotten away from after Covid. I assured him that we would have decades of travel together after our girls were launched. Just a few more years. I ate my words.

My life-long strategy of controlling things in an attempt to mold my world into something safe and certain stops working when I'm in entirely new territory with entirely new people. It's like herding thousands of cats. (Sidebar: the controlling thing never really worked but I still loved it).

I usually have an easy-come, easy-go attitude about money. Not exactly the attitude that most people try to cultivate in themselves or their kids and certainly not a common one among my fellow accountants. It smacks of entitled douche-bag but I highly recommend it.

For a long time, I threw baby Jesus out with the bath water. Because there was another churchy idea that limited my thinking. It's all or nothing. If you're a believer, you believe it all.

Each time my life returned to “normal”, I struggled with the pain and guilt of the strange limiting belief that I was somehow condoning his death. Bonkers, I know. But death is bonkers. A few weeks after he died, I slept through the night. A month after he died, I regained my appetite. With each of these steps toward normalcy, I judged myself – Bad Widow.

I'm at mid-life. At 53 that's probably optimistic but I'm an overachiever.  I'm driven, motivated, disciplined. Work over play. Fulfillment over pleasure. 

My spirit has been nagging me to make a change. I've been ignoring the nagging because, duh, change sucks. But my spirit is relentless. It's gotten louder and louder. Less work, more play.

I decided early in life that vulnerability was stupid. I decided that being guarded, controlled, and pragmatic was smart. Initially, it wasn't a conscious choice but it became an "if it ain't broke don't fix it" thing until my early onset mid-life crisis at 30. Something wasn't working for me and, since I didn't know what that something was, I took a sledgehammer to my entire life. Interesting strategy.

I had an epiphany on December 27th, the day that would have been my 20th wedding anniversary if my husband hadn't died. Since he died, I had allowed my life to move from full to busy. More rushing and less focus. As though I could outrun grief.

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.