At some point along the way of finishing college, starting my career as a ballroom dancer, becoming a wife, and then a mother, I assumed I had grown up. So when I turned forty-eight and my only child went away to college, I was scared. The map of the well-trodden path disappeared. There was a dark, empty silence. A proverbial, intimidating, blank space.
What I didn’t know then, but can see with hindsight, is that the quiet was a chance for me to accept change. To grieve. And finally, the opportunity to let go.
Then my soul made it’s first tentative whisper…
and the more I listened, the more I heard.
This time, I am the one asking the question. And I am also the one answering it with the enthusiasm of youth and the wisdom of age… What do I want to be when I grow up?