Amazing freedom to not understand everything about life

“Sometimes you have to let go of the life you planned to make space for the life you await.” ~Joseph Campbell

My new motto? There is always a backup plan.

Life rarely goes as you imagined.

January 16, 2001. That’s the day when my life trajectory has irreparably changed. It is the day that ultimately leads to living alone, or divorce. It was the day my ex had a ski accident that changed the lives of all our close relatives. But today I don’t want to talk about him or that. I want to talk about my story, about me. About the aftermath of living alone.

A few years ago, when my daughter’s last graduated from college, I loaded her “How Can Package, and Carrie!” I held my backpack, my tight hugs on a South American plane with a one-way ticket, and felt the stomach hole the size of a meteor impact pit.

At that moment I knew so many things. I knew before me that she had a world of worry before me, leaving her period of adventure to end.

I knew I was going home to an empty house – it would continue to be empty now.

I knew my world’s axis had suddenly tilted, but again there was nothing that would balance the same thing.

For years, my life with my children has been a whirlwind of stereotypical femininity, including mothers, management, and multitasking. The house made noise, packed lunches, planned dinners, visited teenagers’ shoes that accidentally stacked up near the front door, noticing that they were derailed by family events, lively conversations, belly laughs, and at one point, hormonal spinning.

And now? Just me, a pile of things like my ubiquitous ADHD fuel, and a fridge that someone else wanted to clean and organize.

Divorce (after 40 years of marriage)? It’s been almost ten years now in the rearview mirror. Full-time career hustle? Quietly (and almost regretted). calendar? “My time” than meetings or dates with my girlfriend. And don’t forget the increase in physician appointments compared to before.

In almost every aspect, I no longer needed the way I was.

When my marriage was over, my ex took over a suitcase, our belongings and more than half of our money. He took our vacation, traditions and a large part of my lifestyle.

That reality gave me a chance with a whole new beginning.

When the noise of change and the noise of a terrible transition drops, what is the ear-deaf question that a ridiculously flawed woman ultimately faces: what will I do for the rest of my life?

The mirror doesn’t lie (but it’s sometimes like a jerk)

Here, when you realize you are alone and start spending your lonely, authentic, unfiltered time, there’s nothing you can prepare.

You meet yourself.

It’s not a curated version of you that will show up for work, friends, family, or festivals. The real you. Unedited, non-moving, sometimes hinged version. It has foible, defects, fractures, fixation, fractures, fractures, fragile truths and more. At least, it tends to be what you first saw. Also, (ultimately) we can see grace and grit, wisdom and warmth, compassion and courage, intuition and integrity.

And that self you meet, they have questions.

They want to know if you are proud of how you spent your life. They want to know what you’re postponing. And they really want to know why you went into the kitchen three times today.

Being alone is a distraction. It’s like standing naked in front of a full-length mirror under so bright lights. All defects are fluorescenced. All the fear comes forward. And ask that all the false stories and excuses you say be rewritten.

And there is a way the outside world has begun to meet you…

wife? wife? !

I have a more calm attitude than before, but still lively. It’s vivid. Volcanic, I know more about the world and myself than ever before. I don’t even realize how little I know. That’s half the fun.

Still, I went into the strange “ma’am Zone.”

You know one. Call you to your wife while the teenager in the store offers to carry your bag. A drive-thru girl gives your latte “Go here, hon.” grrrrrr. (I sometimes educate them that treating such “older” people is respectful and respectful).

It’s the zone people assume you want to have wild sex, don’t want to understand memes, or you’ve stopped being able to connect your Wi-Fi extender without asking your child for help. (Um, I’m guilty of the latter. But even so.)

That’s where invisibility begins to sneak in everywhere. You are not very old, but you are no longer associated or worthy of expressing your opinion.

And the most uncomfortable part? You still feel that your young self is alive and well within. Now now with a slightly shorter fuse for glasses, joint supplements and nonsense.

But here is the truth: Okuno Zone is not a punishment. It’s a portal.

Because if you stop chasing external approval, there is ultimately a deep room for respect inside.

Once you stop chasing external approval, you realize that your value is not measured by the opinions of someone you have, by your waistline, tense skin, or by your potential partner.

Your value lies in how you carry your story, how you illustrate your self-worth, how you show up for others, and how damn you make the freedom you ultimately give yourself just to yourself.

Of course, there are still moments when the chain rattles, such as when technology moves faster than the thumb, or when you remember a name or word, but you still need to get serious brain drilling.

And it’s not just a lapse in memory. It’s a quiet, creeping doubt that you can’t see a little. In a world obsessed with youth and novelty, you are somehow fine-tuned towards the mountains “used”.

But here is my radical revelation. This is not the end of anything. That’s the beginning of it all.

Learning is my new North Star

This chapter has made me realize that this curious, alive, and transitional place. It’s a gift. And for me, that gift is an opportunity to devote a wealth of time to learning. Don’t be moved or moved forward so that you don’t get the letter behind my name. But being alive.

Learning has become my reason for being this last season of my life, and that may have been the case for decades.

Ah, I still deeply love it. I’m still a mother, I’m still showing up for friends, and I still need as much connection and community as I need the air, but will I live alone for these next years? These are just as much to incorporate as I gave them.

I suck on books, devoured documentaries, dive first, and jump straight into a woman-like rabbit hole on the mission of making up for all the time she has no time and has to put her curiosity on hold.

I’m back for treatment. I want to let go of the weight I don’t want to hold anymore. I want to learn to expand, evolve, live with full-scale self-worth, and stay awakened in a world that wants to keep me unrelated.

This isn’t just what I do. This is how I live now. Completely. Curiosity. intentionally.

I’m learning to sit in silence without regret or protecting my shoulders. How to laugh at myself without tearing my mind. A way to value your time without compiling results.

My best friend at the end of my pen

In all this sorting and changing, quiet rooms and honest calculations, new beginnings, and what is needed, there is one constant that I have judged, rushed, and asked to explain myself within two minutes: my diary.

Instead of my ex, who I know me since I was in my late teens, it was actually a good (almost good) substitute.

No matter what day I’m spending, whether I’ve been strolled, soulful, surged, or stuck, I’m always there and waiting.

The page listens so that no one else can do.

When I can’t hold it together, it holds the space. And often, I have been graffitied somewhere between my best thoughts, my brave truth, and my clearest next step.

That pen? It’s not just ink. It’s true: take care of yourself and be honest with yourself.

And a short circuit in my brain – when I can’t remember whether I paid the bill or why I went into the kitchen for that third time, I turn to my journal. Not because you fix everything, but because you filter fuzz.

Journaling is where I unlock mental spaghetti. It’s where I dumped my personal pause button, my brain backup drive, the digital overload of modern life and actually listened to myself again.

One day, it’s a sanctuary. On other days, it’s Susfest. But anyway, it saves me. From forgetting. Because I think too much. I am becoming more and more out of my own disconnection from women.

Real, unforgettable, and free permission

I’m learning to get more curious, not just complying.

I regain my relevance by proving myself, not by proving myself, by being myself.

I exchanged efforts for a taste.

I put my perfectionism down and picked up the pen.

And in a time when I forgot what I was saying seriously, I just say, “Well, obviously it wasn’t worth remembering!” And continue.

No, I don’t understand it all. Thank you for that.

Life doesn’t feel like a checklist now, it feels like how many days it is? (Note: A day in bed with snacks and streaming obsessions).

Some days it’s a disco. Others are enlightening. One day I still feel sorry for myself. But they are all mine.

So if you stand in a strange and sacred space between who you are and who you are, then let this slide your permission:

You don’t have to reinvent yourself.

You need to remember yourself.

Not the person the world wanted or told you that you should be. Who are you? Under the role. Behind the title. Under the noise.

There’s magic there. There is freedom. And yes, there are still a lot of fires.

A few questions to light the way

Who’s stopped looking?

What do I want to learn? Does it light up rather than useful?

I still darken my joy, as I think it’s “too late”?

What does it look like to stop making corrections and start feeling?

Where is I still important?