I engage in conversations freely and openly, no longer worrying about what I might say. I am authentic and true to myself. I try to laugh as much as possible whenever and wherever possible. I am serious by nature, but I am learning the art of living with grand humor. I have learned to laugh at myself, and OMG, I am hilarious.
It no longer matters to me that my kids are not the most well-behaved children on the block or may not get the best grades. What matters to me is that they are learning through their own experience and cultivating their own brand of wisdom of which self-acceptance is a part. In liberating myself, I have unwittingly liberated my children. This alone is profound and very blessed.
I don’t worry about morality because that is just another form of judgment and control. Instead I live by my one cardinal rule which is Compassion. My life became very simple and unencumbered when I finally let go of all my silly judgments and rules. I didn’t suddenly become wildly reckless and outrageously irresponsible as a result. I have become instead deeply loving and accepting of all people and all ways of living. This also helped me see the world quite clearly. Mostly, I can feel my own joy, and it feels really, really good.
In my past life, I had a perfect body, a gorgeous face and lots of attention from men (not to mention a whole boatload of repression). Today, what really tickles my fancy is that it is no longer the men who tell me that I’m sexy, it’s the women. I have had many women blurt out that they think I’m sexy, and I can assure you that there is nothing about me that meets our cultural standard of “sexy.” I am full-figured, fine-lined, stretch-marked, saggy, baggy and perfectly, ecstatically, joyfully happy. I have thrown my head back and laughed out loud more than once when told by a woman that I am sexy. However, what these women are sensing is an inner sexy that has nothing to do with superficial appearances.
I am wearing the look of genuine warmth, joy, peace and acceptance, and these attributes are monumentally magnetic in a world weary of surface appearances, masks and games. In telling my story, I am telling the story of liberation, acceptance, true happiness and lasting beauty that never ages, needs Botox or loses sex appeal. At midlife, I am one smokin’ hot mama.
If I am fortunate enough to become a smokin’ hot granny, I hope I am that ridiculous old gal who wears a rhinestone-encrusted cowboy hat, an oversized t-shirt and thigh-high vinyl boots when she dances for her lover. I hope I break a few ribs with extreme, insufferable, side-splitting laughter. I hope I have a few too many glasses of cabernet and way too much chocolate. I hope I love everyone I meet with shameless, furious, passionate abandon. I hope to become an eccentric old bird who didn’t waste a moment of her life on the things that don’t really matter. If I get my way, I have about 40 smokin’ hot years left, and there’s no good reason I can think of for turning back now.