Category Archives: aging with grace

Episode 40: Dare Boldly – Age is More Than Just a Number

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Is age truly just a numerical label? As we accumulate years, it’s impossible not to notice how society’s definition of what it means to be ‘young’ or ‘old’ affects us. The number of years we’ve orbited the sun does more than just increase; it also alters our own perceptions and the perceptions of those around us about age-related expectations. But how valid are these age-related judgments?

As I approach my 70th decade and am writing and talking more about age and aging, I am constantly confronted with societal attitudes towards aging. The adage “age is just a number” is frequently tossed around, yet paradoxically, society at large seems to dismiss this concept in practice. The lack of celebration for the wisdom, milestones and achievements of older adults stands in stark contrast to the fanfare associated with youth. This discrepancy creates needless hurdles that impede the success and contributions of an entire age group.

The truth is, aging should be a cause for celebration, not a source of dread. There’s an inherent beauty in the accumulation of years, a tapestry of wisdom and experience that can only be woven over time. Instead of evading the topic of age, we must confront it head-on, acknowledging that age, in the grand scheme, holds no weight in assessing an individual’s potential or abilities.

Consider the untapped opportunities that lie within the older generation. If we can strip away our entrenched biases and altered expectations, we can unlock a reservoir of potential. Let’s be be bold and audacious! Let’s embrace the myriad possibilities that do not fade with time. Age is a mere chronology; it should never be a barrier to aspirations or accomplishments.

To sculpt a society that celebrates every stage of life, not just those deemed to be in their ‘prime’ we must be willing to carve out space for each of us to live the truth of ‘age is just a number’. If we are to celebrate the spectrum of age in all its glory, then we must encourage everyone to dare boldly, irrespective of the year on their birth certificate. Let’s inspire change where age is not a limiting factor but another facet of our shared human experience. Let’s all, Dare Boldly, no matter our age, in a world where age does not define us.

Where Do You Need To Give Yourself Grace?

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Today, while recording my “Dare Boldly: No Matter Your Age” video, I hit a snag—I couldn’t find the ‘save’ button. A few moments of bewildered consternation later, I realized I hadn’t even stopped the recording. Classic me!

After editing the video and trimming off an unintentional 30-second blooper of my perplexed voice asking the camera why the SAVE button wasn’t there, the clip miraculously fit into the perfect two-minute frame. What a happy accident!

It’s instances like these that reinforce my philosophy: don’t take life too seriously. And to do that, I must choose to joyfully embrace my imperfections and allow myself the grace to just be—without stuffing every moment with activities or obligations.

Yesterday’s wisdom came through David Kanigan’s Live & Learn blog, where he shared a poignant excerpt from Anne Lamott’s reflections on aging in the Washington Post. It spoke of the graces amidst the indignities of growing older, a balance I’m learning to appreciate.

This concept of grace was tangible for me yesterday. With a women’s circle on my schedule and a ticking clock, I decided to film my daily video while in the bath. Yeah, I know. So risqué of me!  In the end, my bathtime filming went down the drain. The sound was horrendous and after two failed attempts to get it right, I decided to simply give up the ‘need’ to post. I was facing a time crunch and when I finally realized the sound was so burbled (I really did sound like I was speaking underwater) not because there was something wrong with my phone, it was because I was covering the microphone with my finger. I know. Class me again! 😊

Anyway, in the end, I chose to give myself the grace of letting go of the self-imposed pressure of daily postings.

This decision provided me with an hour of unexpected leisure at the park with my beloved and Beaumont the Sheepadoodle. It turned into a lesson in self-compassion and finding joy over duty.

When I was younger, I rarely gave myself this kind of room. I was the harsh critic of my own mistakes, but as I’ve aged, I’ve learned to find humor in my quirks and foibles. Growing older has allowed me to be more forgiving with myself and to prioritize humanity over perfection.

It’s one of the many invaluable gifts of aging—the practice of giving ourselves grace. It’s not just about accepting our missteps with a chuckle, but also about recognizing that the spaces between our plans and obligations are where life’s little graces bloom. By choosing to laugh over lamenting, and prioritizing joy over duty, we weave a life that’s not only forgiving but also more fulfilling.

This journey of aging isn’t about the lines etched by time, but the laughter lines that come from embracing every part of our journey—bath-time video bloopers and all.

Today, I hope you dare boldly, live gracefully, and remember to hit ‘stop’ on life’s record button now and then to save those precious moments.

And, if you’d like to share your precious comments and thoughts on how and where you do give yourself grace, or perhaps need to give yourself grace, please do! We are all on this journey together and sharing our insights, lessons learned from our stumbles and bumps creates space for all of us to grow in our human beingness!

The unmagical costs of Magical Thinking

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No. 37 – #ShePersisted Series – https://louisegallagher.ca/shepersisted/

Magical thinking weaves a persuasive spell, enchanting us into believing that the imprudent or harmful might just be perfectly fine. Indeed, magical thinking is a common thread in the tapestry of human psychology, varying in intensity from one individual to another. Nonetheless, irrespective of its strength, it seldom conjures the improvement or abundance we seek in our lives.

Several weeks ago, I confronted my magical thinking head-on— it’s the kind of magical thinnking that nudges me to indulge in things that seem okay but are not so wise according to plain old common sense. The battlefront? My closet, where I made the tough decision to part with several pairs of beloved shoes.

These weren’t just any shoes. They were the kind that transformed my appearance, elongating my legs (a feat only heels can accomplish) and perfectly completing certain ensembles. However, the stark reality is, the cost of looking good was simply too high. The heels exacerbated the arthritis in my feet, leading to pain that could steal my sleep and leave me tossing and turning, my feet pulsating with discomfort.

In a moment of clarity (and what felt like a whole lot of bravery) I donated a bag full of these beautiful shoes. But in a lapse back into my magical thinking, I held onto a couple of pair. I told myself they were the exception. Perhaps I’d wear them only occasionally or just for brief periods.

Who was I kidding?

I’ve learned that “if the shoe fits” doesn’t mean I should wear it—not when it costs me my well-being. For me, magical thinking lays at the sole of painful feet.

The question in Episode 38 of my Dare Boldly: No matter your age series is— where does magical thinking cloud your judgment? Where does it lure you into making choices that might feel good momentarily but ultimately do you harm?

For me, surrendering these shoes was a tangible step towards prioritizing my health over vanity. Beyond just physical items, it’s a metaphor for any aspect of life where we may hold onto harmful patterns simply because they feel good or fit an image we want to project.

What is your version of the shoes you need to give away? What are you willing to change to protect yourself from the seductive yet harmful embrace of magical thinking?

Dare Boldly: No Matter Your Age — Take 2

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This woman appeared as the November woman for last year’s She Dares Boldly calendar which I’m using to emphasize the quote the muse awoke this morning to go with this post: Woven into the tapestry of life’s highs and lows, a woman’s essence blooms, as vibrant as roses intertwined with wings of change.

It’s been quite some time—over a year, in fact—since I last contributed a video to my Dare Boldly: No Matter Your Age video series. The last episode was last year on October 22.

As my birthday looms on the horizon, however, and as I delve deeper into the complexities of aging within our youth-centric society, I find myself reflecting on the significance of raising our voices. There is immeasurable value in every woman’s story as we collectively embark on this crucial journey, learning to embrace bravery and boldness at any stage of life.

The reminder about the series however, came yesterday evening when I had the pleasure of meeting with a remarkable group of women, all members of Calgary’s longest-running women’s book club. Established in 1976, this group convenes ten times a year to engage in thoughtful discussions about the selected book of the month. Notably, one of the attendees has been a dedicated member since the club’s inception.

These women are not only avid readers, but also independent thinkers—progressive, reflective, and deeply curious about life’s myriad questions, contradictions, and possibilities.

I am honored to have been invited as the guest speaker for their annual Christmas gathering at the end of November. Last night’s meeting served a dual purpose: to discuss my upcoming presentation and their expectations, and to provide me an opportunity to familiarize myself with them prior to addressing the larger group. This larger assembly comprises seven book clubs, each with ten members, totaling seventy women representing a diverse range of ages.

The founding group, with whom I had the pleasure of meeting, consists of women who, like me, are gracefully navigating the complexities of being a woman of a ‘certain’ age. Together, we have created homes, forged careers, and nurtured our families. We have embraced the joys and challenges of becoming grandmothers and, for some of us, taken on the significant responsibilities of caring for partners and parents.

Like my own journey, their lives have been marked by love both found and lost, by the profound grief of losing loved ones, and by the courage to embark on new beginnings. We have navigated endings and weathered life’s fluctuating highs and lows, all while striving to deepen our understanding of our true selves. In the process, we have learned to live authentically, remaining steadfast to our core values and our shared humanity.

As I departed from our meeting, having shared a glimpse of what I plan to discuss later this month, I was profoundly moved by the richness and fullness of these women’s lives. Each individual is fascinating in her own right, and together, they form a captivating and vibrant collective. Many of these women have been part of this book club for several years, fostering a circle characterized by intimacy, companionship, and mutual support.

My friend, who kindly recommended me as this year’s Christmas bash speaker, took a moment to tell the group about my video series, “Dare Boldly: No Matter Your Age.”

This interaction served as both a reminder and an invitation, prompting me to set up my lights and camera this morning to record the 37th episode of the series.

The Journey Home: From Self-Awareness to Self-Reconciliation

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Centuries ago, Aristotle wrote, “The most important relationship we can all have is the one you have with yourself. The most important journey you can take is one of self-discovery. To know yourself, you must spend time with yourself, you must not be afraid to be alone. Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.”

I’d add, “Yet, without seeking to empower self-awareness through self-reconciliation, self-awareness hangs, like an unripened pear, in fruitless possibility.”

Recently, while on my solo trip to Ireland, someone mentioned that they hate travelling alone. “I think it’s because I don’t really like my own company,”

Their comment surprised and intrigued me. I wrote the question in my journal, “Do I like my own company?”

Yes, was my immediate response.

What is it about your own company you enjoy? was my next question.

That one didn’t evoke an immediate response. I decided to make a list of all the things I liked about being with me.

  • I enjoy sitting watching people,.
  • Being alone gives me space to savour silence
  • I like how I’m comfortable just ‘being’ without having to be doing.
  • I enjoy making up stories about other people’s lives, and when I’m alone, I have all the time I need to do that.
  • I meet strangers where they’re at when I’m travelling on my own and get to hear their stories
  • I don’t feel like I have to be ‘on’ when I’m travelling alone. I can choose to talk to someone or not, choose to go out, or not, choose what pleases me at any given time.

After reflecting on my own appreciation for solitude, I began to realize that this contentment I find in my own company is intimately tied to a deeper journey—one that involves self-knowledge and the transformative power of self-reconciliation.

Having spent much of my adult life peeling back the layers of my psyche, the insights I’ve acquired into my inner workings, have helped me gain a profound understanding of who I am, beauty and the beast, yin and yang, dark and light, good, bad and indifferent.

However, on its own, self-knowledge doesn’t guarantee personal transformation. It’s just the beginning of a more profound journey. Imagine it as the map that shows you where you are, but it doesn’t tell you how to navigate the challenging terrain ahead.

Without seeking to empower self-awareness through self-reconciliation, it’s as if we stand at the edge of a vast challenging terrain, separated from where we are by a vast field of possibility. We want to know those possibilities but, fear of the unknown holds us back from taking the first step into the uncharter territory laid out before us. In many ways, this uncharted wilderness represents the aspects of ourselves that we’ve shied away from, the emotions we’ve suppressed, and the contradictions we’ve ignored. It’s a territory filled with uncertainty, and the journey within can seem daunting.

To bridge the gap between where we stand and the heart of our internal divide, we must cultivate courage and self-compassion. Courage to face our inner demons, and self-compassion to understand that it’s okay to have flaws, imperfections, and contradictions. Much like a seasoned explorer who equips themselves with the right tools and knowledge, we too can prepare for this journey.

First, we must arm ourselves with self-awareness, which acts as our compass. It helps us navigate the intricate pathways of our psyche. Self-awareness allows us to identify the areas where we feel divided within ourselves, pinpointing the sources of inner conflict.

Next, we need the flashlight of mindfulness. Mindfulness enables us to shine a light on the dark corners of our thoughts and emotions. It helps us observe our inner landscape without judgment, fostering a sense of curiosity and acceptance.

But perhaps the most crucial tool in our kit is self-compassion. It’s the warm embrace we offer ourselves when we encounter the challenges of self-reconciliation. Self-compassion reminds us that we are human, and like all humans, we are a complex tapestry of experiences, desires, and contradictions.

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The ReWrite Journey

As I develope the courseware for The ReWrite Joureny which I’ll be launching in January, I’l be exploring specific strategies and practices that will guide us deeper into the internal divide. We’ll learn how to reconcile the conflicting parts of our identity, heal past wounds, and emerge from this wilderness as more integrated, authentic, and self-aware individuals empowered to write a life-story that gives us the courage to shine bright, no matter how dark the times..

So, fasten your metaphorical hiking boots, gather your tools, and get set to embark on the journey of your lifetime as we tread, light of foot and heart, into the heart of the internal divide, where true self-reconciliation awaits.

Embracing My Next Decade: Setting the World Ablaze in My 70s

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She dares to live as if age is not a limitation, but an invitation to live it up with passion, purpose and profound significance.

I never thought I’d be charting a course for my next decade while stranded on the narrow roads of Ireland with a flat tire, but sometimes life’s unexpected twists force us to pause, reflect, and reevaluate our journey. It was in that moment of inconvenience, standing at the edge of a lake shimmering in the breathtaking beauty of the Irish landscape, that I realized the need to drive less, rest more, and dive deep into the boundless possibilities of my future.

As I approach my 70s, I’ve been pondering how to live life to the fullest. How can I unleash the creativity that simmers within me, yearning to break free? How do I wake up every morning with unwavering belief in the promise of a better tomorrow, immersing myself in passion and purpose, prose and artisitic expression?

The question that echoes in my heart is this: How do I craft the best chapter of my life yet?

Come December 9, the turning of the calendar will usher in a new decade, laden with the wisdom of years gone by and the thrilling anticipation of what lies ahead. The choice to seize this opportunity, to truly live it up, is solely mine to make—or to disregard.

I stand at a crossroads where I can defy societal expectations that often suggest older adults are merely biding their time. The world seems to imply that whatever we’re doing at ‘this age’ is mere inconsequential chatter, like flotsam on the surface of life. I wholeheartedly reject that notion. I choose to be noisy, to be loud, and dare I say it, to be obnoxious in my determination to declare: “It’s not over yet, baby! I’m ready to set the world on fire!”

This is my time, my moment, to embrace life with open arms and an open heart. It’s a time to cherish the unique perspective that comes with age, a perspective that is enriched by decades of experiences and lessons learned. My journey ahead is not a passive drift towards the sunset; it’s a blazing trail, illuminating the path for others to follow.

In this next chapter of my life, I am committed to leaving an indelible mark. I will pour my heart and soul into every endeavor, chase my dreams with fervour, and nurture my creativity like a precious flame. I won’t just exist; I will thrive. I will embody the belief that there’s still so much to contribute, create, and achieve, because age is not a limitation—it’s an opportunity.

So, here’s to the future, to embracing the uncharted territory that lies ahead with a fierce determination to make every day count. It’s a future filled with possibilities, and I intend to explore them all. Armed with a deeply seated love of self and humanity, a spirit embued with compassion, and a belief in the possibility of better, I declare that my 70s will be a decade of purpose, passion, and profound significance.

Watch out world! The 70s are calling and there’s no stopping me now!

Baking scones at 4am

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Jetlag has a peculiar way of rearranging one’s schedule. It was 4 a.m., and there I was, wide awake, having been stirred from slumber at 2:30. Not having spent much time doing anything domestic while on my travels, the kitchen beckoned. Before I knew it, flour, sugar, and butter were sprawled across the island, with my hands deep in a bowl of flour, sugar and butter, crumbling butter into pea-sized morsels.

Doesn’t everyone bake scones at 4am?

Thankfully, my journey home had been uneventful — truly the best kind of flight.

Upon landing, my beloved was waiting, with our imitable Sheepadoodle, Beaumont, peeking out from the backseat. We were en route to a Thanksgiving dinner with dear friends; a quick stop at home wasn’t on the agenda.

I held onto my wakefulness as long as I could, staying alert till 7 p.m. — or what felt like 2 a.m. back in Dublin. But then, sleep’s sweet lure proved irresistible. A brief hour-long nap on a sofa later, I tried to rally, but by 9:30 p.m., I was soundly asleep in my bed.

Ahhh, the sweet comfort of one’s own bed and surroundings!

However, the early hours found me awake again.

Though an unconventional choice, baking seemed fitting. After all, I couldn’t very well unpack or start laundry, not with Beaumont and C.C. peacefully asleep beside me.

Post my baking escapade, I snatched a few more precious hours of sleep and, when morning broke, Beaumont and I headed out to wander the paths along along the riverbank, the landscape painted with the fiery hues of autumn.

The season of long shadows is upon us. The sun barely grazes the horizon, as though even it yearns for winter’s rest. The mornings greet us with a cool embrace, but by midday, warmth seeps in.

This is a time for introspection, for prepping home and soul for the impending icy gusts of a prairie winter.

For now, I cherish my walks by the river. Though its name might not resonate with the historical echoes of the Liffey, its melody is just as enchanting.

It’s the thing about rivers, no matter where in the world you go, the poetry of the river flows freely.

Emerald Island – I’m on My Way!

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Sitting at the airport in one of my favourite restaurants. Vin Room opened here at the International Terminal at the very beginning of Covid lockdowns.

The worry was, it wouldn’t make it. Believe me. It’s thriving.

I am too.

Despite…. well why worry about the despites or in spite ofs or the if only this was that way or that way.

The fact is, life is as it is and I am on my way to Ireland for 10 days of respite, restoration and respiration. Breath comes deep as I anticipate 10 days of aloneness, writing time, wandering time, and just pure delight time.

This is my for me, by me, with me 70th birthday gift to me.

It appeared as if it was spontaneous but the fact is, I’d been deliberating, wondering, contemplating this trip for quite some time.

I wanted to go but concern for my beloved, wanting to do something with my daughters, just wanting to ensure the rest of the world was okay before I took off on some unknown destination kind of trip, caused me to falter and wait, and consider and wait some more.

And then, one morning in September, I just did it. I booked a flight. didn’t really think about dates — do you know Canadian Thanksgiving is on the 9th and I don’t return until the 10th? Yeah. Like. Who’s going to do the big dinner and all that jazz?

But I digress. There I was, sitting at my desk in my studio, writing a strategic plan for the not-for-profit I’m working for when a voice inside my head whispered… Just Do It!

And so I did. Just do it.

I picked up my phone, opened my Westjet app and check on flights to Dublin. And booked one.

I had no idea what I’d do once I got there. No plan. No idea of where to go, what to see, what to do. All I knew was I was flying to Dublin on Saturday, September 30. End of story.

I’m a little more prepared now. I have a car booked at the airport for when I arrive tomorrow morning. I’ll drive two and a half hours west towards the ocean. When I reach my destination at the Half Door Writer’s Retreat, I’ll park my car, unload my luggage (one bag) and ensconse myself for a beautiful sojourn on the shore of Lough Derg, just beyond the town of Nenagh. There, I’ll write, and wander, drive and tour, write some more and ponder life, love, and the beauty of being immersed in the Irish countryside.

My father is Irish. His father and brother immigrated to Canada in the 1920s but never left their homeland behind. It always lived in their hearts, his Uncle Pat’s Irish brough never softening.

My grandfather returned to the Emerald Isle a lot, eventually, settling in London where my father was born.

It’s a long convuluted journey. My paternal grandmother was Jewish. The union did not last and if I read the letters she wrote to a sister correctly, their differeing faith had lots to do with it. When my grandparents divorced when my father was 8, they shipped him off to boarding school from London to Gravelbourg Saskatchewan which on a certain level explains his enchantment with my French speaking mother. Gravelbourg is a small enclave of French culture deep in the wheatfields of prairie bound south eastern Saskatchewan.

And still, I digress.

It must be the wine. I’m hoping it will put me to sleep on my flight so that when I arrive in Dublin at 11am tomorrow morning Dublin time, I’ll be refreshed and rejuvenated. Ready to take on this adventure.

Wish me luck.

I’m off!

Wendy: A Silent Hero Remembered

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It’s been 10 days since I received the news that my dear friend Wendy had left us. A decade of days, each carrying the weight of grief, sadness, and a bewildering sense of loss.

Guy de Maupassant once penned in his novel, Bel Ami, “The only certainty is death.”

It is the inevitabilty of every tree, flower, animal and human journey — the arc of life bends towards its own end. But what fills the arc with brilliance is everything we do between our first breath and our last. It’s the friendships we forge, the laughter we share, the tears we wipe away, and the love we generously sprinkle over the lives of others.

Why then has Wendy’s abrupt departure from this world left me so disoriented?

The word ‘unexpected’ echoes through my mind.

I had plans with Wendy, plans that involved many more days of laughter, stories, a glass or two of wine, and a charcuterie board artfully assembled. I was expecting to see her again.

Last Tuesday, HomeSpace, the not-for-profit organization she dedicated her considerable energy to, hosted a celebration to honour her life’s work. A crowd of colleagues, past co-workers, and her loving family gathered to celebrate a woman who was the silent engine behind so much good. Wendy was a woman who made the world a better place simply by doing—by organizing, by guiding, by supporting, and by empowering others to be their best selves.

Wendy never sought applause or public acknowledgment. She thrived behind the scenes, diligently ensuring others could stand in the spotlight.

If Wendy could hear the heartfelt stories and tributes shared in her honour that day, I imagine she’d dismiss the praise with her usual modesty. She would retreat to the kitchen, fussing over an extra cheese plate or refilling wine glasses, patiently waiting for the collective adultation to move on. Then, she would return to the crowd, quietly making her rounds to ensure that everyone was taken care of.

Don’t get me wrong, Wendy wasn’t a saint adorned in rose-colored glasses. She had her flaws and complexities like each of us, but it was precisely those nuanced layers that made her so incredibly human, so deeply cherished.She was a woman of many opinions—on governments and leaders, healthcare, and even the inefficiency of city traffic. We’d often muse (and chuckle) about how the world would be a more compassionate place if we were in charge. Yet, she never uttered a word that could hurt a friend, tarnish a colleague, or dim the atmosphere of a gathering.

And when we’d finished with complaining about the state of the world, we’d resume our conversations about the transformative power of art, the pressing issue of homelessness, and the secret to a perfect lemon pie as if these topics formed the very air we breathed.

Wendy was a woman of action, and during the pandemic, she transformed into a ‘mask-making wizard.’ At the memorial, some of her countless masks adorned a wall, framed by photographs capturing her life. Every face in those photos had at some point been touched by Wendy’s kindness, likely having received a mask or some other gift from her.

She gave until her heart could give no more.

Now, her heart has given its last beat; her breath its final exhale. Wendy is gone, but she leaves behind footprints deeply embedded in our hearts—imprints we never expected would be set in such quicksand.

What remains are the memories I will cradle in my heart, wrapped in a quilt of tender loving care.

Wendy’s absence has reminded me of the fragility of life, urging me to cherish each shared laugh, every shared story, all the shared moments that dance in the space between birth and the inevitability that Maupassant wrote of.

And so, while the world feels a bit dimmer without her, Wendy’s light continues to shimmer in the countless lives she has touched—mine most certainly included.

If You Dare Nothing

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If You Dare Nothing
by Louise Gallagher

If life were a poem
would you dare
to dance on rainbows?

If life were a song
would you dare
to sing the morning awake?

If life were a canvas, 
would you dare 
to paint the sky vivid green?

And if life were a story
would you dare
to paint your dreams alive?

If in your life you dare
nothing,
ask yourself, Why Not?

This past Sunday marked a milestone in my life; I mustered the courage to sing in front of a group of over 150 people.

This wasn’t just a spontaneous act. It was the realization of a dream I had nurtured for nearly two decades. Seventeen years, to be precise. And while it may have taken me longer than I initially thought, I’m reminded that the timeline of dreams is less significant than the perseverance to pursue them.

At the age of 16, I had a taste of the spotlight when I won second place in a talent contest. My big brother, ever the protective sibling, perhaps feared that success might go to my head. So, as we walked home after my performance, he sought to ground me with a reminder: that in his eyes, I couldn’t sing, and to him, I appeared as nothing more than a silly little girl. He even went so far as to suggest that the audience were on his side and thought so too..

I tried to brush off his words with laughter and feigned indifference. “I’m going to sing regardless,” I defiantly claimed. But internally, I was shattered. His words held weight, and I retreated from singing in public.

Four decades would pass before I would confront that memory again. Seated in a seminar room on a Sunday morning, I watched another trainee stand up and sing in front of an audience. I wasn’t listening to their skill or pitch. I was mesmerizedby their bravery.

And in that moment, a dormant dream reawakened. I wanted to reclaim my voice, not for the sake of singing perfectly, but to heal that wounded young girl’s spirit and prove to her that she is worthy of her dreams.

So, on this past Sunday, in the Discovery seminar room where I had encountered my shattered dream almost twenty years ago, I sang. I sang not for validation but as an act of personal liberation. It was a triumphant stand, my declaration of independence, against a belief that had held me back for so long: the mistaken notion that I didn’t deserve to see my dreams realized.

My song that day? The very one I sang all those years ago – Joni Mitchell’s “Both Sides Now.”

It was a full-circle moment, symbolizing that while perspectives change over time, dreams – when pursued – can truly come full circle.