22 April 2006
"Call me a late-bloomer," says writer Mary Stella, forty-eight:
I was in my 40s when I finally sold my first book. I also have a day job that's the best one I've ever worked and every day there makes me feel that I've really come into my own. That sort of satisfaction more than makes up for the fact that, due to our non-profit status, I make a third of what I would elsewhere. I wouldn't be half as happy, I bet.
At this age, I'm self-reliant, more confident and have a positive outlook on life. I have a terrific circle of friends who are all amazing women and men.
All it took was getting older. And to think we fear aging and complain about it so much.
Mostly, I put this here as a reminder to me. I was a wreck at 48; I started to emerge from the wreckage at 50; I'm actually sort of functional at 52.
And is it aging we fear, or what happens when we're through aging?Posted at 12:01 AM to Almost Yogurt