Let's talk about death...

Grape leaves: the cycle of life

A few months ago, I signed up for a dinner party where death had a seat at the table. You could even say death was the guest of honor. 

Talking about death isn't something most of us who grew up in western culture are comfortable with. Sadly, because not having those oh-so-important conversations can make loss even more devastating. 

And not only do we not want to talk about it, many of us don't have cultural rituals to guide us when loved ones die. In some cases where we do, those rituals we grew up with don't fit anymore. 


This isn't a post about grief; I write about that enough. This is a reminder to all of us to do the things that must be done—the hard things, those caring things that make life easier for those left behind when we, too, leave this mortal plane. 

#DeathDinners

My dinner with death was last Saturday, and yes, it was fascinating, and yes, death was nearly the sole topic of conversation.  

Based around 'death over dinner' events (#deathdinner) started by University of Washington professor Michael Hebb in 2013, the dinners grew from a graduate course called Let's Have Dinner and Talk about Death. In 2018, Hebb authored the best-seller, Let's Talk About Death Over Dinner; from this website, you can also learn about hosting your own dinner with death. Why over dinner? As Hebb notes, the dinner table is the most forgiving place for a difficult conversation.

The dinner I attended was hosted by former lawyer now end-of-life coach Ann Forrest Burns. (Do check out her site; it's fabulous and you can learn some things. Do it; it's safe to look.) There were six of us around the table, and we started our conversation by sharing the first memory we had of a significant death. 

The impact of loss

My dad was my first significant death, but not a memory of my own as he died shortly after I was born. But my mom mourned his death until she, too, left the mortal plane when I was 38. That was big. 

Other losses left an impenetrable mark at an early age. My caregivers and my reasons-for-being all died within a few short years of each other: first, my aunt, who died when I was 8; she said "goodbye, daddy" to my grandfather as she was taken from the house on a stretcher—and then never came home. My grandpa left me the following year, and three years later, my grandmother. I was 12, and her death signaled to me that anyone I cared about—or who cared for me—would leave. Hence my modus operandi for the next couple of decades—being left became an expectation, and I looked for love in all the wrong places. 

Since then there were countless others—cousins, friends, pets, and other family members, few from a 'ripe old age' and largely from lifestyle choices. When someone in my family lives to 80 or 90, it's cause for celebration. There are few of them. 

As a little girl, I attended many funerals because of a large, extended family, and while uncommon today, when I see a funeral procession drive by, I still get choked up. I was often in the family car leading the way. 

Death upon death

Mortal death isn't the only death, though. My mom died an emotional death after my aunt died, closing off and shutting down—that, too, left an indelible mark. And when those we care about lose their quality of life, that may be a series of deaths, as they lose the ability to do what they love. Often, this is a prolonged death. 

Planning ahead 

Death can break apart families. Pre-planning can make a difference. 

I have a Canadian friend who works in the industry and helps people pre-plan. She's been highly successful financially not because she's great at sales, but because she's truly passionate about helping people. Death is hard enough on those left behind; when we plan ahead so others don't have to, we lessen their suffering. She knows this at a deep level.  

Talk with those you love about your needs and desires. Do you want your life sustained if it means you're hooked up to tubes, incubators, or various other machines? There are legal documents that leave no question, and it's best to work with a professional (you can find them in all price ranges). A health directive, or living will, is a must-have to ensure you're taken care of the way you want to be when you can't make decisions for yourself anymore. And don't be smug; this can happen at any time—an accident, or an illness that comes on suddenly. 

When the time comes: 

• How do you want to symbolize your time on earth? 
• How do you want your family taken care of? 
• Who do you want to benefit from any means you may have left, or any of your prized belongings? 
• Do you care if there's a service, and if yes, how it's done? 
• Cremated or buried? Where? We even have a choice of 'green' services now. 

You may think these aren't important, but when the time comes, they're important to those still standing, and the fewer decisions they have to make, the easier it is during a time that's anything but easy.  

Be curious

On Saturday, we also played the game Morbid Curiosity. It's a combination of trivia questions and conversation starters. While some of the trivia answers are humorous, many inform or help you think about options to consider. Conversation starters were either thought-provoking or entertaining. If you need help getting the party started, this game will break the ice. 

Meaningful death

Our lives have meaning, not just for us but for those who care about us. Our death will have meaning, too. Let's help those we leave behind with those most difficult decisions, so they don't have to when their wound is wide open. 

I'm grateful that death doulas are becoming a thing. It's a much-needed service to help us make choices that are meaningful while we still can, and help us navigate the complex industry that death has become. 

Don't wait

While my mom talked about her own death and did some of the pre-planning (thanking lucky stars for the People's Memorial Association here in Washington), I was less-than-impressed with our family's funeral home, the place where I spent enough of my childhood to still have strong memories. If only there were death doulas, or end-of-life coaches, then. It would have saved confusion, frustration, and heartache. 

Don't wait. This is far too important, and it's never too soon. Talk, plan, or find some help. Or host a #deathdinner of your own. It really isn't morbid. We had great conversations, plenty of laughs, and some good food, too. Here's the link again, just in case it helps. 

If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching—you can find me here.

Never too late--don't wait!

Right before Seattle's 2019
#Snowmaggedon

As long as you're breathing, it's highly likely there's still time—time to fulfill those bucket list dreams.

Whether you have a legacy to carve, a book to write, a trip to take, a mountain to climb, a new role to play, very little, certain physical limitations aside, is truly impossible. 

Some of our dreams may look a little different now, may require some alteration. But impossible? Only if you believe they are.  

What matters most? That's a question I ask myself a lot because it helps me stay on track. 

When you're 80 or 90 years old, in the winter of your life with more years behind you than ahead, what do you want to see when you look back at those years? 


What motivates you? 

Most bucket list items require a willingness to let go of what was for what could be. They typically aren't part of our day-to-day, so they probably require a little risk taking, a bit of stretching, a sidestep out of our comfort zones. 

But as we cross those items off our list, we're stronger, better, smarter. We never stop growing or learning... unless we choose to. 

I'm all about meaningful learning and development, adventure, and freedom. These drive me, move me to action, and make life worth living for me, whether I'm learning a new skill, reading about a moment in time or a bold new future, absorbing a culture, walking a city end-to-end, hiking a woodsy island trail, exploring an unfamiliar destination, or quelling my curiosity about people and their motivations...  

At work, doing the same thing again and again is a motivation killer. But I'm old enough now that I mentor more than I'm mentored, so it's up to me to create opportunities to learn and stay engaged.  

What kills your motivation? What stops you from moving through your bucket list? Are you waiting for someone to pave the way or show you how? 

Don't wait. 

Don't wait... I think that's the advice my older self would give my younger self. To quote Nike, just do it. 

You've probably seen many of these before, but I'm going to put them out there as a reminder: 

• Fans of Little House on the Prairie, a popular 70s TV show, may not be aware that the first of this series of books was published by author Laura Ingalls Wilder when she was 64, encouraged by her daughter to document her early pioneer years. Mom and I never missed this show when I was a kid. How tame it was by today's standards! We all have stories... and you have yours to tell. 
• Famous chef Julia Child didn't learn to cook until she was in her 30s, and didn't publish Mastering the Art of French Cooking until she was 49. She was 51 when her public television show, The French Chef, debuted. And she wasn't even French. 
• The king of fried chicken, Colonel Sanders, didn't start his franchise behemoth until much later in life—he developed his beloved recipe when he was well into his 60s. 
• The oldest person to climb Mt. Everest was retired Japanese schoolteacher, Katsusuke Yanagisawa, who was 71, and the oldest to summit Mt. Rainier, Bill Painter, did so when he was 81. 
• The world's oldest female body builder, Ernestine Shepherd, now in her 70s, didn't even start working out until she was 56. My uncle was a body builder in his 20s, but put that on hold until he started lifting in his 50s. Now in his late 80s, he only recently stopped competing... and winning in his age class. 

If we do it right, with age comes experience and with experience comes wisdom. We've learned from our failures and our fuck ups, our small wins and big wins. Second, third, or even fourth act careers are sometimes the most satisfying, according to those who made the leap and tell the tales. 

Some of the most interesting and successful entrepreneurs didn't have a background in their new business; they wanted to bake, teach, learn, sew, paint, code, serve others, or just had an idea they wanted to pursue. They found the resources, learned what they needed to know, and, likely a step at a time, made it happen.  

The next best advice I'd give my any-age self? Try something new. If it looks appealing, seems interesting, or fascinates in some fashion, try it. You've got little to lose and a lot to gain. If you need more incentive, search success after (pick an age) and you'll find an endless array of inspiration. 

So, what are you waiting for? What steps can you take today that move you through your list, or get you closer to fulfilling a dream? Get specific, and make it happen!  




If you like this post, or this blog resonates with you in any way, please feel free to share it, comment below, or send me a message. I'm also available for one-on-one coaching, which you can find out more about here. 

The answer is gratitude

Sombrio Beach, BC

A fresh start, a clean slate, a new year... Don't we all have high hopes for the year ahead when the clock strikes midnight and a new year begins?

I do. However, few of us have an easy time during the holidays, which largely culminate on New Year's Day. Family dynamics, our financial circumstances, our health, and so much more impact how we feel on this first day out. 

That's why it helps me to see this day as a continuation; while it is a new day, New Year's Day is, in reality, a 'next' day in a continuum. 

But today, as another day starts and this new year begins, I'm worried. Mindful that worry has power, I know feeling gratitude is key. And... 

Worry activates a future we don't want...

There's a lot of noise in the world, and there's little I can do about it. Yet, my worry list continually repeats the negatives from the inputs of the day: 

• our currently precarious economy, a government shutdown, a potential wall and rampant isms
• increased property crime in my 'hood, and how those tasked to protect and serve don't, won't, or can't
• the hardships so many currently experience (and how my usual mantra, "I feel with loving compassion..." isn't appropriate for all circumstances right now)
• what happens to others because of bias 
• a seeming lack of kindness, consideration, and civility everywhere

I know worry doesn't serve me or the world. I can't project the future; I'm making assumptions and projecting. Imagining the worst.  

Why is it so hard to imagine the best???  

Socially, we're conditioned to imagine the worst, but it's deeper than that. Genetically, worry and fear saved us. Today, though, life is rarely life threatening (for those of us with privilege). (An aside: imagining is an important tool, however; read The Gift of Fear and The Unthinkable -- books I highly recommend to everyone.) 

Be intentional with your words

Words have power. They can guide us and help us stay on track. One approach I take is choosing an annual word to represent where I want to focus each year, and this helps me imagine the best. 

My word for 2016 was invest. And then, not long after the start of the year, I was laid off. Suddenly, investment looked very different than I initially intended, and I re-interpreted that word to invest in myself -- internal confidence, skill building, and building community. 

In 2017, my words were expansiveness and spaciousness, and I see how these played out, although again, differently than initially intended. I started two new jobs, took on new challenges, drove cross-country, built new networks, furthered community, shifted more limiting beliefs, and developed practices to support positive change. 

Vancouver Island

In 2018, my word was deliberate -- focusing on experiences, not 'stuff', learning my new job, and practicing self-care. I tracked my spending, and in most ways, spent less. I changed my diet, lost 12 pounds, and at the end of the year, my blood work was the best its been in years. I went to more concerts, saw more shows, spent more time with friends, and mostly stayed true to my focus and beliefs. 

Words are my framework; they motivate me, support me, re-engage me. I've made countless changes in my life in part because of using words deliberately, including creating a solid foundation with my partner. We have done the work, and we've landed in a good place, with a future we can look forward to.  

Now it's time to reap the rewards of that work. So I'm leaning toward manifest or fruition as my word(s) for 2019.

But first... gratitude. Gratitude is my keyword. It underpins everything else. It's at my essence and is essential for managing life's curve balls. Because we may not achieve everything we've planned for 2019; we still have challenges ahead and all those worries I mentioned. There's so much we can't control.  

Changing the dialogue...  

I believe consciousness is cause. I also believe we're all capable and creative. And it's up to me to direct my inner dialogue away from that which doesn't help. 

So, here goes. 2019 is the year I: 

• deepen my belief that everything works for me, even if it doesn't always seem that way 
• repair my relationship with money, making that work better for me, too
• get my house in order, literally and figuratively
• own my worth--not just know it, but own it, and accept nothing less
• write more
• ... and try harder to believe in miracles... 

I recently heard the questions, "What miracles would you love to experience this year? What would be an outrageous good and transform your world?" I'm going to ponder these for the next week or so and see what shows up. 

The key to manifesting miracles is gratitude. Living from gratitude makes our days look brighter and more seems possible. Add in grace, compassion, and forgiveness, and it's a mixture for deeper satisfaction.  

I don't want for anything--I have a warm, comfortable home, a loving partner who's a staunch companion, a good job with a steady paycheck, a satisfying social network, and I'm generally healthy in mind, body, and spirit. 

That's a lot to be grateful for. And for now, that's really all I need to focus on. Because with gratitude, all things are possible. 

Fine tuning, not improving

The self-help and self-improvement industries rake in money hand over fist, but lately the conversation about "improving" ourselves seems to be shifting. Good. Let's stop. Helping ourselves? Sure. Improving? Not so much.

As a coach, I see my clients as whole, complete, creative, and resourceful, and in 'new thought' spiritual teachings, we're all perfect as we are. What we consider "imperfections" are those unique character traits that make us different and special.


So--what if we just need fine tuning? 


Honestly, there's nothing wrong with us. Not really. We're human, and we're all different.

That doesn't mean we can't improve or develop skills, become better versions of ourselves, that we don't have more to learn, or explore whatever we're intrigued by. But that's not us.

We may see others as having something wrong with them, because they think differently, do differently, or believe differently than we do. But that doesn't mean it's true. And it doesn't mean they need improving, no matter how much we disagree with them.

Improving implies the need to fix, 

and fixing implies that something's broken. 

Bones break (those can be fixed...). Parts of us break down. Sometimes we say "I'm broken" to emphasize a point. Our hearts break, our spirit breaks. But most of us aren't actually broken. Being in pain isn't broken; it's a very real and important part of living. There's always possibility for something to be different, even when it feels impossible and we can't see it. We may have a belief to let go of or an old story still dictating our behaviors, but to shift these, we reprogram, unlearn, or create, not fix.

Maybe it's years of being advertised to that's turned me off to the word improved, with the endless introduction of new and improved versions of almost anything on our large and small screens, on supermarket shelves, and in our online shopping carts. Or maybe it's the underlying message that if you're working to improve yourself, you're not good enough as you are.

We don't need to be fixed. 

And telling ourselves that we do, reinforced by the words self-improvement, isn't very helpful, whether it comes from inside our heads as self-talk or from somewhere else.

We may have a few cracks, perhaps, like Japanese pottery. If that's the case, let's add some figurative gold filigree, and be a different, more complex version of ourselves. Let it change us in ways that embolden us and make us even more unique. Perfect as it was; perfect as it is. Who says a perceived imperfection isn't really perfect? It's all perception, right?

Who defines perfect in your world? 

As Leonard Cohen sang, the cracks are where the light shines through. We need those cracks, those things that set us apart from anyone else. Those cracks are like our emotional fingerprints, and they make us interesting.

I, for one, am sick of "improving" myself, something I spent my younger years doing because I never felt good enough; I often felt less than. We all have "stuff" we can work on. But improvement is a self-defeating concept. Embrace your idiosyncrasies, gain mastery over those things you're passionate about, and shed the old crap that holds you back. That's not "improvement" unless you want to define it that way. But I think there's a better description. The need to improve feels like we're motivated by something outside of us, like something we should do, not something we do because we want to-- something that comes from within.

I believe, over time, we become more of who we are, and who we're meant to be...

Ancient Gravenstein, continually
evolving to be more of what it's
meant to be.

...and as we age, in particular, and grow in experience, we gain a deeper confidence and wisdom, which also brings the gift of self-acceptance, with our perfect imperfection.

As we step more firmly into our own shoes (in my case, some might say many pairs.... but that's an aside), love--and like--yourself as you are. That doesn't mean you won't have things you want to change. But become that "more of" version. Evolve your language and use words that make you feel good. Continually fine tune, grow, and adapt. This is what makes life's challenges, hurdles, and joys far more fascinating and easier to maneuver. 

How much more can we give the world if we feel good about who we already are? How much more exciting is it to focus on something we want to do, explore, or learn, rather than doing something to improve ourselves?

Let's be part of that shifting conversation.

Busting up some aging myths

The perils of aging are largely myths.

"What makes people believe they don't have any power or control over what happens to them?" Forrest asked as we were chatting about older friends and family who are dealing with health challenges. We realized we were somewhat confounded by how little some of us seem to know and understand about our own health.

It struck me that we grow up conditioned to think that aging is negative, a bad thing. We learn:

• We'll get sick. 
• Our bones get weak. 
• Bodies give out. 
• Things break. 
• We won't be as vibrant. 
• Sex lives wane. 
• Memories fade. 

And so many more.
We accept them as fact.
We don't question.

Stuff happens, some of it preventable, some not, but either way, it doesn't mean we're without power to have an impact. So here are a few thoughts, as I consider my own journey.

We are not our genetics.

That list above? Not necessarily true... We are not our genetics, although we can be if we believe we are and act accordingly.

We can influence what happens to us, and what we believe and how we act can make all the difference. It's not to say they won't happen; as we age, the odds of developing ailments increases. We can't control all of our environmental influences.

Yet there is much within our control. Beliefs matter.

We are what we eat. 

The old adage, "we are what we eat," is actually pretty true. If we put junk in our bodies, we feel ... well, like junk.

What we consume makes a difference, no matter what our age, but we might feel the impacts more as we get older, as we whittle away our defenses. So many illnesses or conditions are considered preventable and are now linked to diet - Alzheimer's, diabetes, heart disease, to name just a few... Food also has a huge impact on brain function, how we feel emotionally and how much energy and strength we have. A few insights:

• Sugar - any type of sugar - contributes largely to inflammation, which is the root cause of many disorders and diseases. 
• Processed food is full of sugar and various chemicals (thousands of untested additives are on the FDA approved list for use in food!), and generally, the western diet is highly processed. 
• Sugar substitutes are even worse. Sodas, any type, are not helpful. Try sparkling water with a splash of juice, some bitters, or herbs for a refreshing alternative and to stay sufficiently hydrated.
• As so many food experts now advocate, and to paraphrase Michael Pollan, as I often do, eat real food, not too much, mostly plants. 
• Simple carbs like white flour or white rice are stripped of fiber and nutrients and quickly turn to sugar once ingested. A better option is whole grain; even better, the ancient grains. Grains in any form should be a small part of our diets; make sure your breads or cereals have just a few ingredients and you know what they are. 
• Potatoes and other starchy foods get a bad wrap, but they're actually nutrient dense. Add a little butter or sour cream and you're golden. Just eat sparingly. 
• Fat is good. Well, good fats are good. Fat is satisfying and helps our bodies use many of our vitamins.
• Lastly, conventional agriculture is pesticide- and antibiotic-heavy. If you can, know your producers, buy from a farmers market, shop the organic section or make smart purchases using the Clean 15 / Dirty Dozen lists.  

Use it or lose it...

While the research and thinking around exercise continues to change (how much, how often, how intense), the importance of moving our bodies has not. To thrive, we need to be active.

Sitting is one of the worst things we can do, and from my own experience, know it causes all kinds of less-than-fun discomforts. There's evidence now it can even shorten our lives, and certainly it contributes to countless ailments.

Sitting too much keeps me from running - temporarily (sing it: the hip bone's connected to the thigh bone... or a version there-of, in my case, sitting caused limited range of motion in my hips, underachieving glutes, overactive calves and impossibly tight Achilles tendons in both feet).

It's never too late to start moving. But if you haven't moved your body for a while, it's best to start slow. Yoga or stretching, strength and balance exercises, coupled with standing desks if you have a desk job are all essential to bone, muscle, mental and even emotional health.

     And then there's style...

I have no interest in getting old. That said, as we all are, I am aging. There's a big difference between old and aging. Unless I want to pay a small fortune, I can't do much about my sagging jaw line, but I don't have to look old, either. Good style never goes out of date.

Cosmetics, used strategically, dressing appropriately for your lifestyle (but throw away those "how to dress at any age" guides, especially if they tell you to change your style based on your age), and an updated hair style just feel good. I intend to stay relevant even when I'm an advanced age, and personal style shows you 'get it.'

...And lastly, life-long learning

Don't ever lose your curiosity. Challenge yourself. Even as a teenager, I recognized the value of "being comfortable being uncomfortable" with a wall poster reminding me at every look.

Explore. 

Travel.

Ask questions. 

Read. 

These keep us vibrant, relevant and engaged. Be deliberate and intentional. We can learn and grow from everything and we're never too old to learn something new. Brain science is growing exponentially and none of it suggests that we have to lose capacity as we age.

As 'anonymous' once stated (I wish I knew who really said this), "Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty, well-preserved body, but rather to skid broadside, thoroughly used up, and loudly proclaiming, 'wow, what a ride.'"

(If you like inspiring quotes, here's a pretty good selection.)


While this is hardly a comprehensive list (I didn't even mention play, laughter, or spending time in nature; oh, and don't smoke...) to help you age gracefully - or disgracefully, if you prefer, I think it busts a few of those myths I grew up hearing. Hope they do that for you, too.

Bittersweet: Mother's Day reflections

Yes, a mother's job is serious stuff, and a lot of hard, often thankless work. But being a mom, especially one from earlier generations before support groups and online forums, doesn't come with instructions, and not every woman is inherently good at it. 

First, I'm not a mother, unless you count cats or a brief foray into step-parenting 20-some years ago. Second, I'm not very sentimental about Mother's Day. Reading the history of mom's day makes me feel better about that. There's nothing like seeing 500 Facebook posts about people's moms to induce guilt.

I loved my mother.

She left this mortal coil on May 19, 14 years ago. And 14 years ago, we shared our last Mother's Day together. But she'd be one of the first to tell you it's a Hallmark holiday. Still, it was a lovely, sunny Sunday. She was feeling good and in good spirits. It was one of the few times she'd been back to the house, her childhood home, after moving to an assisted living apartment. Forrest's brother Clay and his family joined us for a backyard picnic. Just 64, mom's health was failing, but she'd been doing better lately and I thought there would be several more mom's days to come.

But just one week later, she was gone.

My mom and I had our challenges. She admitted one day not long before she died that she hadn't always been a good mother. I was a little surprised to hear her say that, so I asked what she meant. She didn't elaborate. But I knew. I also know she did her best. She didn't have a lot to work with. Her mom, my grandmother, was mean, and even meaner after a stroke. She was a martyr whose favorite tool was manipulation through guilt, and she treated my mom, her youngest, badly. Shit flows downhill, and I felt the brunt of that when, in her final years, we moved in to take care of her. Those were tough times for all of us.


I know my mom loved me. 


At least, she did to the best of her ability. There's an adage that says you can't truly love someone else until you love yourself, and my mom, for the most part, didn't like nor love herself. She spent most of her life fighting depression. And she did fight. From lots of self-medicating with the popular pills of the day, to a seven-year stint with a psychiatrist. She even took me to a session when we were having a particularly hard time. Mostly, she hid behind her weight, her caustic wit, TV, and cigarettes.

Co-dependent. 

That's a good word to describe our relationship. My earliest years were spent with my grandparents and an aunt while mom worked, but we'd always go home together. Just the two of us.

During those earlier years, we did things together. She was a good sport. She'd camp with my Girl Scout troop. She'd help me with badges, even if we did everything wrong (which we'd laugh about). She took me to see Fantasia. We went to ceramics classes. She made sure I had birthday parties and separate birthday and Christmas presents (I arrived just before Christmas). She fed me well and dressing me nicely was one way she showed she loved me. I honestly think she was both thrilled to have me in her life, and greatly burdened by me.

As a teen, she took in all my wayward friends, but at some point she abdicated any parental authority. She wanted what was best for me but didn't know how to guide me. She couldn't keep me safe. She especially didn't know how to deal with my hormones or emotions. My mom didn't have much love in her life, and though she and my dad were together only a short time, I believe she mourned him for the rest of her life.

My mother was social and loved family gatherings, but as family and friends died or slipped away, she became more reclusive and detached. From my earliest days, I remember her anger. She yelled. Slammed things. Threw things. Her frustration was easily triggered - a characteristic I adopted and only unlearned during my own self-analysis. I shared her anger, too, although I didn't realize this until a lifelong friend told me that as teens, she was afraid of my anger. That was a big a-ha for me.

I loved my mother. And I know she loved me.

And I'm not sentimental about Mother's Day.

By that last Mother's Day together, we'd largely made peace with each other, and ourselves. She once asked, "How'd you get so smart?" I told her I had good genes. My mom was wicked smart but had rare outlets to express it. Late in her life, she shared with me the dreams she'd had of doing something more. But fear, self-loathing and the responsibilities of being a single mom kept those dreams safely tucked away. Her fear spilled over on me; she discouraged my dreams, always suggesting the safe, familiar path.

Not everyone is fit to be a parent. I tried my best to be a step-mom. I didn't have a lot to work with. And my step-daughter triggered fears I didn't know I had. She came to live with her dad and me when she was 14. By 14, I had already cracked open the Pandora's box of drugs, sex and rock-and-roll. She was on a similar path, and it scared me. For her and for me. Step-parenting ushered in the end of my marriage - and drove me to see myself in a way I hadn't ever viewed myself previously. I had already done some inner work and made some changes, yet this was a real crossroads. I felt both proud and shamed by some of my own behavior.

Not all moms should be moms. I don't have children of my own, and I don't think that's just an accident. I put my mom through hell during my teen years. And, as she graciously owned, she wasn't a very good mom. I don't blame her. She didn't have anything to go on. From a young age, she shut herself off emotionally, did everything she could to protect herself from her own childhood pain.

Blood connections don't mean you owe each other anything. A friend is now caretaking her mom - a mom who's life was spent in festering resentment, never gaining emotional maturity, despite her advanced age. My friend is a compassionate woman; she left home at 16 for good reason, but she's doing what needs to be done, not because her mom earned her care, but because it's the right thing to do. And she's heartbroken, watching her mom suffer in her final days, still angry, resentful, and full of blame.

Yes, I miss my mom. 

I miss her humor and creativity, her insightful perceptions, her flashes of wisdom, her hugs. And I believe I was there for her in the best possible ways for both of us those last few years of her life. Her care was my priority; despite our continued challenges, I so badly wanted her to experience ease in those final years. She had done her best, given her circumstances. We had weathered a lot.

Despite it all, I didn't need a holiday - a day that began with good intentions (but even the founder was appalled at what it quickly became) - to do the right thing for my mom.

Not every mom knows how to be a mom. My mom tried, when she could. I'm grateful to her for much: she brought me into this world, she tried hard to do things differently with me, and she passed along some priceless gifts, in part, unwittingly. I honor her by doing things differently, still.

I applaud all those moms who made it through, do good jobs, and have wonderful relationships with their children. And I applaud those who were able to mend difficult relationships. And, I acknowledge all those who had a different experience.

Yes, I miss my mom. In many ways. But sometimes I just feel sadness when I think of her, and can't imagine anything else.

For me, as it is for many, Mother's Day is bittersweet. 

Giving thanks: It really is about choice

I was thankfully reminded last night while having dinner with my aunt and uncle that it's not just genetics that influence how we age.

My uncle, my mom's brother, turned 79 last month, and he looks pretty good. He's still spry, square dances twice a week, and does most of the repairs on his home and rental property. He's aging, clearly, and slowing down; he's had a few health challenges, but nothing that's threatened his mortality or that requires intense management (that I'm aware of). I have long said lifestyle trumps genetics, and I'm taking this as proof that my maternal ancestry doesn't necessarily doom me to a shorter life.

I've had far too many relatives leave the mortal coil at too young an age. My cousin Terri, whose birthday would have been Monday, was just 54 when she died from lung cancer. Cousin Sherri was 52. Their paternal aunt lived into her 90s, though, so I take this as yet another example of lifestyle over genetics.

Other relatives also succumbed to lifestyle-based illness: my mom at 64, her sisters at 60 and 48. Two great aunts in my maternal blood line lived the longest - Alma to 88, her youngest sister, Vernis, to 78. They didn't smoke, among other things. And my mom's maternal cousin, bless her, is well into her 90s and living fully and vivaciously. Whew! But these are just three exceptions on my mom's side.

On the paternal side, I've mentioned that my uncle is now into his 80s, and until recently, competed in weight lifting competitions around the world. I like those genetics!

When I think about genetics, I get scared I'll die a premature death, before I've fully lived the dreams I've envisioned. After all, mom - just 64; my dad - just 28, and on and on. That fear and the realities of managing an illness, as so many in my family must do, are primary motivators for choosing differently. Sometimes I fear there will be a penance for my early years of excess. But my naturopath says if I'd done real damage, I'd likely know by now. Thank goodness for teenage resilience! When I see pictures of my younger self, cigarette in one hand, drink in another, I barely recognize myself and it feels like someone else's life. In a way, it was.

When this fear shows up, I aim first to forgive myself for those early years - not always easy... and trust I haven't yet activated anything undesirable, and remember that genetics aren't the be all, end all. And then I get this body moving. Evidence continues to support how much our diets and activities impact our overall health - even Alzheimer's is proving to be largely diet related. This gives me hope, as that's something I can manage, and that's a disease that's rampant, along with diabetes and heart disease, throughout my family. Research shows that even making small changes can make a big difference if you're not already doing those things that lead to optimal health.

So as I regularly chant, I'm thankful today and every day that lifestyle can, indeed, trump genetics. I can't slack off much. I'm committed to my own health and well-being, despite the challenges. I read today there's actually scientific proof that being thankful improves health, too. That's an easy one!

I hope you, too, have much to be thankful for, today, tomorrow and every day.

Celebrating older women

I heard a story on our local NPR station recently that piqued my curiosity enough to explore further. New York photographer Ari Cohen has made it his mission to photograph style mavens over 60 on the streets of New York. Despite their advancing age (many are in their 80s and 90s), they're still very much embracing and celebrating life and themselves, and living out loud with what they wear.

Check it out here.

As a young girl, I was surrounded by interesting older women. Friends of my grandmother - Mary Swift and Mary McKagen (grandmother of Duff) - were stylish, creative, talented, outspoken, and both very prominent figures in my life at different times. A pale yellow skirt made from fine wool with exquisite detailing by Mrs. Swift was my introduction to couture at a very young age. Ms. McKagen's sense of humor stayed with her 'til her final days and my visits with her are unforgettable.

There was Hazel Schultz, a friend of my father who kept his memory alive for me. She was a hat model in the 1920s. The afternoon we spent in her attic opening hat box after hat box was my version of heaven at that moment. Already a hat collector, she sent me home with a couple dozen ranging from 1940s military style, 1950s pillboxes to 1960s mod and so many more. The stories behind those hats! If only I'd written them down...

My neighbors Mrs. Bean, Dorothy, Old Mrs. Wurm and the spinster Miss G (whose German last name was hard to pronounce) each had their own special style and made their contributions to the world and my life. I'm also lucky enough to have hats from each of them except Miss G, who insisted on wearing scarves to cover her thinning hair (one of those many things we potentially have to look forward to...).

My great aunt Vernis was my own Auntie Mame. Her laughter and zest for life were contagious, and she always maintained a positive outlook. When her second husband died after a long illness, she reconnected with her first husband who was still wildly in love with her. They remarried, and spent much of their final years together boating in the San Juan Islands. She drove a Cadillac, wore bright colors, always had her hair done, and never left the house without makeup. With no children of her own, she indulged me in meaningful ways. It was from her that I developed my love for vintage clothes, hats, gloves and handbags, playing dress-up with her lovely castoffs. She was a rare gift - so different than the others in my family.

These are just a few who have inspired me and who I could aspire to be like as I age.

I love it when stereotypes are smashed and cultural myths about aging defied. This becomes more important to me as I age and contemplate what aging means to me. One day I will be considered 'old' by societal standards. What does that look like? I certainly don't want to feel old. And I don't want my style to be dictated by my age - how I dress, the length of my skirt or how I wear my hair. And I really don't want collective expectations to hinder my ability to live as loudly and fully as possible.

What concepts about aging do you want to break?

By the way, I'm excited to note there's an Advanced Style documentary film in the works to be released sometime this year. I don't know any more details but if I hear of any, I'll post them here.