At 52 years old, starting a blog was not exactly on my bingo card.
If you’d asked me ten years ago what I’d be doing in my fifties, I probably would have said something wildly ambitious like traveling the world, becoming a yoga enthusiast, or finally figuring out what all the buttons on my TV remote actually do.
Instead, I’m navigating menopause, obsessing over Bravo reality shows, following true crime trials like they’re my second job, and wondering if it’s too late to become a rocket scientist.
For the record, I still haven’t ruled it out.
The idea for this blog didn’t come from some magical moment of inspiration. There wasn’t a lightning bolt, a vision board, or a life coach involved.
I simply realized there were conversations I wished someone had been having years ago.
My mother never talked about menopause.
Not the hot flashes.
Not the brain fog.
Not the sudden inability to remember a word in the middle of a sentence while staring directly at the object you’re trying to describe.
Not the moment when you walk into a room and completely forget why you’re there.
Twice.
In the same hour.
What I discovered was that many women were experiencing the same things but weren’t talking openly about them either.
So I decided I would.
This blog is a place where we can discuss menopause without whispering, fitness without pretending we love burpees, and life after 50 without acting like we’re suddenly invisible.
We’ll also talk about decorating, building our dream home in Wyoming, Bravo drama, and whatever true crime case currently has me convinced I could absolutely serve on a jury despite having already formed seventeen opinions before opening statements.
At this stage of life, I’ve learned something important.
You still feel 25 inside.
Your knees, however, may have filed a formal complaint.
And while my body occasionally reminds me that I’m not as young as I think I am, I’m still figuring out what I want to be when I grow up.
Maybe that’s the real surprise of your fifties.
You don’t have everything figured out.
You’re just more comfortable admitting it.
So welcome.
Grab a coffee.
Or a Tropical Mango Spritzer.
Let’s figure this out together.
