It’s the first of the month, and since our theme for the year is keep, June feels like the perfect time to keep wandering. June is when people start daydreaming about vacations, long weekends, or simply a break from the everyday. But wandering doesn’t have to mean boarding a plane or packing a suitcase. Sometimes wandering is as simple as following your curiosity. Maybe it’s wandering through that antique store you’ve driven past a hundred times but never stepped inside. Maybe it’s wandering through the pages of a new book everyone’s been talking about — or revisiting an old favorite that feels like catching up with a dear friend. I just finished a deep garage purge, and let me tell you, I wandered straight down memory lane. There’s something magical about stumbling across old trinkets that once meant everything. Little time capsules reminding you of who you were and how far you’ve come. You can wander through nature, discovering a new trail and rewarding yourself afterward with a sneaky ice cream stop. You can wander into a new town to try a restaurant you’ve heard whispers about — or duck into an old burger dive that’s been flipping patties since forever. You can wander the streets of local festivals — pickle fest, strawberry fest, or whatever quirky celebration your town dreams up. You can wander abroad and soak up a new culture, or wander right around the corner and still find something worth smiling about. Wander solo. Wander with your girlfriends. Wander with your family or your sweetheart. Wander with whoever makes the journey feel light. Wherever you choose to wander this month, let it fill you up. Let it remind you that joy isn’t always found in the destination — sometimes it’s tucked into the meandering, the detours, the unexpected turns. Here’s to June. Here’s to wandering. Here’s to finding happiness in the journey, no matter how near or far it takes you.

I went into my deep‑clean purge with the enthusiasm of someone headed to a dental appointment. I knew it needed to be done — less clutter, fewer piles, and the comforting knowledge that my child wouldn’t one day be stuck sorting through every last bit of my accumulated “treasures.” There’s also the satisfaction of donating things that still have life left in them, or maybe even making a little garage‑sale money if you’re feeling ambitious. Those are the obvious perks. But what I didn’t expect were the other benefits — the ones that felt like little surprises tucked inside the mess. One of the biggest was the sheer relief of letting go of things I once thought I’d never be able to part with. I didn’t toss everything, of course. I kept the mementos and trinkets that still tugged at me, the pieces that felt stitched to my story in a way I wasn’t ready to release. But once I made the decision to let certain things go, a calm settled over me. A quiet, steady peace I didn’t even know I needed. And then came the reminiscing — the fun part I never saw coming. I stumbled across my Girl Scout badges from Troop 214. Old sorority photos and memorabilia. Newspaper clippings. The orange pompoms I wore on my roller skates at the Skate Inn. Little pieces of my childhood and early adulthood that I hadn’t thought about in years. But then I found the treasure — the one that made my heart swell. A handwritten manuscript, followed by a typed (yes, typewriter typed) children’s book series written by my mom. She had given it to me years ago, long before the internet, long before Amazon made publishing accessible to anyone with a keyboard and a dream. She had sketched illustrations, written her own mock reviews — something I would absolutely do — and poured her imagination onto those pages. And there it was in my hands: her handwriting. Her creativity. A piece of her that her dementia can’t erase. Holding that felt like holding her. I guess this is where my love of writing comes from. So even though I dreaded the big purge, I’m grateful I did it. Not just for the space it created, but for the memories it returned to me — the forgotten pieces of my life, and hers, that I get to hold a little tighter now. Sometimes cleaning out a box, a closet, or a garage isn’t just about getting rid of things. Sometimes it’s about finding yourself again.

Somewhere along the way, I started learning a skill I wish someone had taught me years ago: the art of staying in a good mood even when life hands you a handful of reasons not to be. It’s not about pretending everything is fine. It’s about refusing to hand over the keys to your whole day because of one lousy moment. I’ve been guilty — more times than I’d like to admit — of having a perfectly good day and then letting one rude comment, one inconvenience, one unexpected hiccup derail the whole thing. Someone says something sharp, or something doesn’t go my way, and suddenly I’m declaring the entire day a loss. But really, the only person who suffers from that is me. My mother used to tell me, “Let it roll off you like water off a duck’s back.” And honestly, she was right. People will say rude things. Tires will go flat. Plans will fall apart. Life will lob its little curveballs whether we’re ready or not. But what if — instead of letting those moments take over — we just… let them be moments? A flat tire is annoying, sure. But once it’s fixed, maybe you can laugh about the ridiculousness of it. A rude comment might sting, but it doesn’t have to set up camp in your spirit. You don’t have to carry it around like a souvenir. Because here’s the truth: our days will have bad moments. Absolutely. But those moments don’t have to swallow the whole day. They don’t deserve that kind of power. And you certainly don’t deserve to suffer through a “bad day” when what you really had was a five‑minute inconvenience. Simple Ways to Turn a Day Around If you want to get better at not letting one moment ruin everything, it helps to have a few tiny, gentle resets in your back pocket — little things that remind your brain, Hey, we’re okay. The day is still good. Try things like: enjoying your favorite beverage reading a few pages of a book taking a light walk pausing for a couple of deep breaths journaling a thought or two playing your favorite music looking for one positive thing in your day praying or grounding yourself spiritually calling someone you love treating yourself to something small and sweet These aren’t grand gestures. They’re simple, doable, everyday ways to shift your energy back toward center. They help you remember that the day is bigger than the moment — and you are bigger than the moment. Protect your peace. Guard your joy. Let the moment be a moment — and let the rest of the day be yours.

Some of us were raised on “treat people the way you want to be treated.” Lovely. Wholesome. Very PBS Kids. But adulthood has taught us a few things: Some people don’t deserve front-row seats to your kindness. Some people don’t even deserve the cheap seats. And some people need to be escorted out of the theater entirely because they keep talking during the show. Kindness is powerful — but it’s not a group project. You don’t have to carry the whole emotional load while someone else shows up with nothing but attitude and an expired coupon. When Matching Energy Feels Tempting Then there’s the “treat people how they treat you” crowd. This philosophy is basically the human version of a mirror — except sometimes the mirror is cracked, foggy, or from a funhouse, and suddenly you’re acting like someone you don’t even recognize. Sure, matching energy feels satisfying for about 4.5 seconds. Then you’re like, “Why am I being spicy when I don’t even like spicy food after 7 p.m.?” It’s giving: “I don’t want to be petty, but I will if you insist. ”And honestly? That’s exhausting. Petty cardio is not on anyone’s wellness plan. The Grown-Woman Middle Ground This is where the magic — and the humor — lives: Be kind by default. Be clear when someone starts acting like they were raised by raccoons. Be gone when they prove they can’t handle your kindness without chewing on it like it’s furniture. You don’t have to clap back. You don’t have to stoop. You don’t have to deliver a TED Talk on boundaries. You can simply decide: “I’m not matching your energy because your energy looks tired.” That’s kindness with a wink. Grace with a little hip pop. Boundaries with lip gloss. The Real Flex The real flex isn’t being endlessly nice. The real flex isn’t being petty. The real flex is being intentional — choosing your behavior like a grown woman who has things to do, places to be, and zero interest in emotional mud wrestling. Kindness is classy. Boundaries are powerful. Not tolerating less than you deserve is the most epic form of self‑respect.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy — not the big, dramatic, “name on a building” kind, but the quiet kind. The kind that sneaks up on you in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon when you’re folding laundry and suddenly remember a joke your dad used to tell. The kind that shows up in the way you comfort your child, or the way you instinctively reach for kindness before anything else. Losing my dad cracked something open in me. Not in a tragic way — in a clarifying way. Because when I think about him, I don’t think about accomplishments or possessions. I think about presence. I think about how he made me feel like I had the best, most supportive, most loving dad in the world. And I think about how he extended that same love to my daughter, giving her the gift of a papa who showed up with his whole heart. He left me a legacy of laughter — stories, jokes, pranks, and the kind of humor that sticks to your ribs. He left me a legacy of steadiness. Of showing up. Of being the kind of person whose absence is felt because their presence was so deeply known. But here’s the thing: legacy isn’t just about the people who have passed on. Some people leave your daily life because they move away, retire, or simply drift into a different season — and they leave legacies too. Mentors who shaped my career. Friends who shaped my heart. People whose influence still echoes even though they’re no longer in my everyday orbit. And the more I think about it, the more I realize there are many kinds of legacies we carry and create: 1. The Legacy of Values These are the things we pass down without even trying — morals, principles, faith, family traditions, the lessons we teach simply by living them. These are the legacies that show up in how we treat people, how we love, how we forgive, how we stand back up. 2. The Legacy of Story Family history, journals, photo albums, digital archives — the breadcrumbs we leave behind so future generations know where they came from. These are the stories that keep us alive long after we’re gone. 3. The Legacy of Things Heirlooms, jewelry, investments — the tangible pieces of a life. They matter, but they’re never the whole story. They’re the punctuation marks, not the paragraphs. 4. The Legacy of Community Volunteering, donating, serving, showing up for others. The ways we make our corner of the world a little better than we found it. 5. The Legacy of Mentorship Sharing what we know. Investing in others. Creating programs, offering guidance, opening doors. This is the legacy that multiplies — the one that keeps growing long after we’re done planting. 6. The Legacy of Intentional Living This one might be my favorite. It’s the legacy of kindness. Of presence. Of choosing to live in a way that leaves people better than you found them. It’s the legacy of time — the most precious thing we ever give. And here’s something I’ve learned: The most indelible legacy is the way we live. Not the things we leave behind, but the love we leave behind. And if you’re a parent, there’s one more piece: letting your children know that when your time comes — hopefully many, many years from now — it’s okay for them to keep living. To keep laughing. To keep becoming. Tell them the kind of life you hope they’ll live, so your voice can echo in their hearts when they need it most. As for me? When my day comes, I hope my daughter remembers me with a smile — not because I was perfect, but because I was present. I hope she stands strong in the never‑ending love and confidence I poured into her. I hope she feels me in her bones, cheering her on, reminding her that she is capable, worthy, and wildly loved. That’s the legacy I want to leave. And the beautiful thing is… I’m living it right now.

Please be patient with me — I’m from the 1900s. Not 1900, but the 1900s. And not to brag, but I was alive when you could slam a phone down to make a point. A real receiver. A real cord. A real “thunk” when I slammed it down. It was glorious. As women in our 50s, 60s and on, we’ve lived through a lot. We’ve earned every laugh line, every story, and yes… every moment of “now what was I saying?” So here are a few things our generation would love to share with the next. 1. Memory Changes Are Normal — Not a Crisis I’m not talking about dementia or Alzheimer’s. I’m talking about the natural, everyday memory shifts that come with aging. Our bodies change, and our brains do too. They even shrink a bit over time, which can lead to occasional forgetfulness — totally normal. There are ways to support our memory: - follow routines - get enough sleep (you know I believe sleep is the cure‑all) - stay active with friends, family, church, or hobbies - keep tickler lists (I’m queen of post-its) - consider fish oil - and put your keys, purse, and glasses in the same spot every time But if our recall is a little slower and it doesn’t interfere with our independence, show us ladies from the 1900s a little grace. 2. Technology Moves Fast — Faster Than Our Reading Glasses I’ve slammed a phone down. I’ve paid bills with checks. I’ve relied on a dog and a baseball bat for home security. Now, it’s Ring cameras, online banking, and passwords that require a symbol, a number, a haiku, and a blood sample. Just when I figure out the latest phone update, a new one drops. But here’s the thing: we’re strong, independent women. We survived blue eyeshadow, big hair, and shoulder pads that could double as flotation devices. According to an AARP survey,” two‑thirds of adults 50+ say technology enriches their lives and makes aging easier.” With a little patience from the Verizon guy, our kids, a tech‑savvy friend, or even a blogger, we can embrace it too. We just may need to triple the font size. 3. We Have Stories — And Sometimes You’ll Hear Them Twice We’ve lived. We’ve loved. We’ve collected memories like seashells, and we enjoy sharing them. Sometimes we share them more than once. My dad used to raise his hand when I repeated a story — a gentle “heard it already.” We’d laugh. But as he got older and he began repeating his stories, I didn’t’ raise my hand. I listened. I listened because I loved him, because I enjoyed our time together, and because I knew that one day I would miss hearing his voice. So, when we repeat a story or two, I hope the people around us will listen with the same patience and love. 4. We Move a Little Slower — But We’re Still Moving We made it through math class without calculators, but these days it might take us a minute to warm up after sitting. A good nap is a gift. And sometimes the stiffness needs a moment to shake out. But staying mobile matters. Moderate exercise helps maintain strength, flexibility, and balance — all key to avoiding falls. Whether it’s water aerobics at the Y, a stroll through the neighborhood, or joining a hiking club, the trick is to keep moving. 5. We’ve Survived a Lot — And We’re Aging With Style We may be a little forgetful and a little slower these days, but that doesn’t make us stupid. We are smart, capable women who have raised families, built careers, run businesses—or juggled all of the above while still remembering where everyone’s socks were. So, when the younger generation talks to us like we’re clueless, it’s downright insulting. Older, wiser, and moving at our own pace does not equal ‘dummy.’ It just means we’ve earned the right to take our time… and maybe reread the instructions once or twice.” We made mixed tapes. We wore leg warmers (not just to dance class). We crimped and permed our hair. We slathered ourselves in baby oil and iodine. We strutted around in shoulder pads like linebackers. If we survived that, we can make aging look graceful. We just need a little patience from ourselves — and from those around us.

Better late than never. Age is just a number. You’re never too old to succeed. We hear these phrases all the time, but lately they’ve been hitting me with a new kind of truth. Maybe it’s the confidence that comes with being firmly planted in my fabulous 50s, or maybe it’s the quiet realization that life doesn’t shrink as we age — it expands. If we let it. And the world is full of people proving that the second act might just be the one where the spotlight finally finds you. Take Kent Broussard. A 66‑year‑old retired accountant who always dreamed of marching with the Louisiana State University Tiger Band. Most people would’ve said, “Well, that ship sailed.” Not Kent. He picked up a tuba, marched around his neighborhood like a man possessed, enrolled as a full‑time LSU student in 2025, and became the oldest member of the Tiger Marching Band in its entire history — by forty‑one years. He didn’t just chase his dream; he marched straight into it. Then there’s Wally Funk, who became the oldest woman in space at 82. And Julia Child, who didn’t publish her first cookbook until she was 50. These aren’t outliers — they’re reminders that passion doesn’t retire. Curiosity doesn’t age out. Reinvention isn’t reserved for the young; it’s reserved for the brave. And women, especially, are leading this renaissance of late‑life ambition. Women Who Prove It’s Never Too Late Vera Wang — Fashion Icon at 40 Before she became synonymous with couture bridal gowns, Vera Wang was a figure skater and journalist. She didn’t enter the fashion world until she was 40. Today, she’s one of the most influential designers on the planet — and she’s said repeatedly that starting later gave her clarity, discipline, and a deep sense of purpose. Iris Apfel — Style Legend at 84 Iris Apfel didn’t become a global fashion icon until she was in her 80s. At 84, she had her first major museum exhibit at the Met, and her career exploded from there. She signed modeling contracts in her 90s, launched brand collaborations, and became a symbol of unapologetic self-expression. She often said that age gave her the freedom to be fully herself. Toni Morrison — Nobel Prize Winner at 62 Toni Morrison published her first novel at 39, but her global recognition came later. She won the Pulitzer at 56 and the Nobel Prize in Literature at 62. Her most celebrated works were written during the years society often labels as “winding down.” Grandma Moses — Painter at 78 Anna Mary Robertson “Grandma” Moses didn’t start painting until she was 78. She went on to create more than 1,500 paintings, some selling for over a million dollars. Her late start didn’t hinder her — it defined her. Dame Judi Dench — Hollywood Breakthrough at 61 Judi Dench was a respected stage actress for decades, but her international film career didn’t take off until she played M in Golden Eye at 61. She became an Oscar winner after 60 and continued to dominate screens well into her 80s. The Numbers Tell the Story Too According to the Kauffman Foundation, people aged 55–64 start new businesses at a higher rate than those in their 20s and 30s. A Stanford study found that older adults report higher levels of emotional resilience, patience, and long-term focus — traits that directly support creative and entrepreneurial success. Women over 50 are the fastest-growing demographic of entrepreneurs in the United States. And in publishing? The average debut novelist is now over 40, with many breaking in during their 50s and 60s. So why do these late‑in‑life dreamers succeed? Because maturity brings gifts we don’t appreciate when we’re younger. We stop chasing approval and start chasing fulfillment. We learn patience. We develop resilience. We understand that time is precious, so we spend it on what matters. And maybe most importantly, we finally give ourselves permission to want something simply because it lights us up. I’ve always wanted to write a book. The story lived in my head for years — characters chatting away, scenes unfolding, plot twists popping up while I was in the shower or driving to work. But getting it from my brain to the page? That was the mountain. And recently, I climbed it. I wrote the book. I don’t know if it will take off or end up as the world’s fanciest table coaster, but I did it. I honored the dream. And that alone feels like success. There’s a special kind of magic in doing something for the first time when the world assumes you’re supposed to be settling down. I’m not settling. I’m just getting started. So, here’s to the late bloomers, the second‑act starters, the dream‑chasers with silver streaks in their hair. Here’s to the women who wake up one day and decide, “Why not me? Why not now?” Because truly — it’s never too late to become who you were meant to be. Have you chased a later in life dream or are you ready to?

Let me tell you something about Mother’s Day 2026: she did not come to play. She showed up in full dramatic flair, wearing sequins, carrying emotional baggage, and waving a mimosa like, “Buckle up, sweetheart.” And buckle up I did. Act I: The One Who Made Me a Mom… From a Distance My girl couldn’t make it home because she’s off being an educated, responsible adult (rude). But even from miles away, she managed to send a card that hit me right in the maternal solar plexus. The kind of card that makes you dab your eyes and whisper, “Okay fine, you do love me.” And proud of my girl doesn't even begin to scratch the surface. Motherhood: 1 Mascara: 0 Act II: Plot Twist — I’m a Bonus Mom Now This year, my bonus daughter officially claimed me. Like, stamped, notarized, spiritually certified. And listen… being chosen as someone’s bonus mom? That’s a whole different kind of heart-swell. It’s like being handed a backstage pass to someone’s life and realizing you’re part of the VIP list. I felt like Beyoncé. But with more snacks in my purse. Act III: Visiting the Original Queen Mother Then I went to see my own mom — the woman who taught me everything from how to stand up straight to how to stand up for myself. Her memory is softer now, like a well‑worn quilt, and she didn’t quite grasp that it was Mother’s Day. But we had time together. Real time. And then a FaceTime with her and my daughter that felt like three generations holding hands across a screen. That moment? That was the good stuff. The soul stuff. The “this is why we do life” stuff. Act IV: The Group Chat Olympics The rest of the day was a blur of texts, calls, emojis, and “Happy Mother’s Day!” messages from family and friends. My phone was basically a slot machine of love. Every ding was a tiny serotonin boost. Then there was the sweetest expression of sentiment from the S.O. that was the cherry on top. Act V: The Truth No One Puts on a Greeting Card Mother’s Day hits different for everyone. Some people are moms. Some desperately want to be. Some have fur babies. Some have lost children — literally or figuratively. Some have lost their mothers. Some have complicated relationships. Some are healing. Some are celebrating. Some are just trying to get through the day without crying in the Target parking lot. Wherever you landed this year, I hope there was at least one glimmer — a spark, a moment, a breath — that reminded you that love still finds its way in. Final Act: Curtain Call My Mother’s Day wasn’t traditional. It wasn’t even fully understood by one of the most important women in my life. But it was layered. It was real. It was mine. And honestly? I think that’s the most motherly thing of all.

Summer is allegedly “right around the corner,” though in East Tennessee that means absolutely nothing. One minute I’m sweating like I’m in a Tennessee Williams play, the next I’m curled under my heated blanket questioning my life choices. But while the weather can’t commit, I can — to sprucing up my summer wardrobe without spending a fortune or undoing all the decluttering I’ve been doing like a responsible adult. And the secret? Accessories. The unsung heroes. The outfit whisperers. The “I tried, but not too hard” magic-makers. So, pull up a chair, pour something iced, and let’s talk about how to elevate your summer look without breaking the bank or your closet rod. 1. Sunglasses: My Ride-or-Die Summer Staple Listen. I have sensitive eyes. The sun and I have a complicated relationship. But sunglasses? They’re my emotional support accessory. Big frames, round frames, cat-eye, square, rainbow-colored, tortoise shell — I do not discriminate. If it shields my retinas and makes me look like a glamorous international woman of mystery, I’m in. I even bought one of those multi-pair cases from Amazon and now keep eight pairs in my car like a traveling sunglasses boutique. My current obsessions: Diff and Quay. Stylish, functional, and they don’t require a second mortgage. 2. Bold, Colorful Jewelry: Instant Outfit CPR You know what costs less than a new dress? A giant, unapologetically fabulous necklace. Case in point: I recently stumbled upon a big, green-beaded beauty from Bauble Bar. Did I need it? No. Did it speak to my soul? Absolutely. Green goes with everything — neutrals, brights, denim, your mood swings — so into the cart it went. Statement jewelry is the easiest way to say, “Yes, I’m put together,” even if you got dressed in the dark. 3. Hats: Practical, Playful, and Occasionally Petty A good hat is a summer essential. A funny hat is a personality trait. I love a big floppy sun hat for beach days, but I also have a ball cap that says, “Sorry for what my boyfriend did,” and honestly, it’s art. Hats protect your face, hide your hair on its rebellious days, and add instant flair. What’s not to love? 4. The Light Jacket Glow-Up Even in July, I’m the person shivering in a restaurant because the AC is set to “Arctic Expedition.” So yes, I keep a light jacket handy. But this year? I leveled up. I took a plain jean jacket and turned it into a wearable scrapbook. I collected patches that scream me — dogs, books, travel, photography — and plastered them all over. Suddenly, my basic jacket became a personalized statement piece that sparks conversations and joy. 10/10 recommend. 5. A Bold Lip (or Whatever Feature You Love Most) I don’t wear a ton of make-up, but give me a bright lip and I’m unstoppable. Coral, fuchsia, cherry red — summer is the season to go bold. If lips aren’t your thing, play up your eyes, your cheeks, your freckles, your whatever. The point is: pick one feature and let it shine. 6. The Summer Hair Switch-Up (aka: Free Closet Space, Unlimited Sass) Nothing — and I mean nothing — spruces up your summer style faster than a fresh cut or a bold new hair color. It’s the ultimate low‑commitment, high‑impact accessory. No hanger required. No storage bin. No “should I keep this?” guilt spiral. Just instant fabulousness. And listen… I have the best hairdresser. Going to see her is basically a two‑hour therapy session with better lighting. We laugh, we gossip, we solve the world’s problems, and somewhere in there she magically transforms my hair into something Pinterest-worthy. Speaking of Pinterest — I treat it like a hair buffet. I scroll, I screenshot, I show up with a photo like, “Let’s try this.” And she always says yes, because she knows my motto: It’s only hair. It will grow back. Don’t love the color? Pivot. Want bangs? Live dangerously. Thinking about going lighter, darker, redder, or mermaid‑ier? Why not. Summer is the season of reinvention, and hair is the easiest playground. And the best part? It doesn’t take up one inch of space in your closet. Not one. Your decluttering heart can rest easy. So… What’s Your Summer Accessory Power Move? These are my go-tos for freshening up a summer wardrobe without spending a fortune or undoing my closet purge. Accessories let you reinvent your look, express your personality, and have fun — all without adding clutter or guilt. But now I want to hear from you. What’s your secret weapon for summer style? What accessory do you swear by? What little thing makes you feel fabulous? Share it with us here at Kicking the Chaos — because we’re all just trying to look cute while the weather figures itself out. FYI, I am not a paid spokesperson.

Let’s go ahead and break a Southern rule right out of the gate: I’m 54 and a half. And I’m saying it loud enough for the church ladies, the Dollar General cashier, and every cousin twice removed to hear it. There. Done. Somewhere, a magnolia wilted. Growing up in the South, asking a woman her age was right up there with putting your elbows on the table or forgetting to send a thank‑you note — a full‑blown social misdemeanor. But here I am, not only telling you my age but adding the half like I’m in second grade again and desperately trying to get credit for it. And honestly? I’ve earned every minute of it. Because here’s the truth no one tells you when you’re young and moisturized and convinced 40 is ancient: the older you get, the younger “old” becomes. I remember looking at my parents in their mid‑50s and thinking, “Wow… that’s basically elderly. ”Now I look around at my life, my energy, my people, my plans, and think, “Oh honey, we’re just getting warmed up.” And don’t even get me started on the Golden Girls vs. Sex and the City revelation. Same ages. Completely different vibes. One group was baking cheesecakes at midnight in housecoats, the other was strutting through Manhattan in heels that cost more than my first car. If that doesn’t prove how much attitudes toward aging have changed, nothing will. So yes — every age has a perk. But 54½? She’s got a whole bouquet of them. Perk # 1: My Give‑A‑Damn Is Broken Beyond Repair In my 20s, I cared what everyone thought. In my 30s, I cared what some people thought. In my 40s, I started questioning why I cared at all. Now? If it doesn’t affect my peace, my paycheck, or my people, I simply do not have the bandwidth. My give‑a‑damn is not only broken — it’s been discontinued. Perk # 2: Shedding Other People’s Expectations Somewhere along the way, I stopped auditioning for roles I didn’t want. I stopped twisting myself into pretzels to be liked. I stopped dimming my light so someone else could feel brighter. I stopped trying to fit into rooms that were never built for me. At this age, you either like me as I am or you can kick rocks in open‑toed shoes. Perk # 3: Realizing There’s Room for Everyone to Shine This is the age where you stop competing and start celebrating. You clap for other women. You cheer for their wins. You know someone else’s sparkle doesn’t dull yours — it just makes the world brighter. And if someone needs you to shrink so they can feel tall? Baby, that’s not your person. Perk # 4: Doing More of What You Want and Less of What You “Should” This is the era of: “No, thank you” without guilt “Yes, absolutely” without hesitation “I’m busy” meaning “I’m reading on my couch with my dog” “I’m unavailable” meaning “I’m protecting my peace” It’s delicious. Perk # 5: Understanding That Aging Is a Privilege This one hits deep. Not everyone gets to grow older. Not everyone gets more birthdays. Not everyone gets more chapters. So, I’m embracing every year, every wrinkle, every laugh line, every lesson, every blessing. Perk # 6: Being Part of the Generation That Rewrote What 50 Looks Like We are not our mothers’ 50s. We are not the Golden Girls’ 50s. We are not slowing down, fading out, or stepping aside. We are reinventing. We are glowing. We are thriving. are interesting as hell. So, what’s the perk of being 54½? Everything. Absolutely everything. This is the age of confidence, clarity, boundaries, joy, humor, resilience, and zero tolerance for nonsense. This is the age where you finally become the woman you were always meant to be. Unfiltered. Unapologetic. Unbothered. Unstoppable. And if that’s what 54½ looks like? Then bring on 55 with a sparkler and a slice of cake. So, what is the perk of your age? Please share with us.

A Light‑Hearted Look at My Family Health History (and Why I’m Not Doomed) Let’s talk about genetics — that mysterious deck of cards we’re all dealt at birth. Some people get a royal flush. Some get a pair of threes and a dream. And some of us get… well… a mixed bag with a few jokers thrown in for flair. In my case, both of my parents were medical professionals. You’d think that would mean I grew up in a house where people sprinted toward preventative care like it was a Black Friday sale. Oh, sweet summer child. No. Dad: The “If I Ignore It, It Can’t Kill Me” Approach My dad was brilliant, compassionate, and absolutely allergic to going to the doctor. The man once knew he was having a heart attack and still waited to go to the hospital. He survived that one — probably because God looked down and said, “Sir, absolutely not. Get in the car.” Then came the skin cancer. He ignored it. We begged him. He ignored us. We begged louder. He ignored louder. By the time he finally got it checked, it had metastasized. And that was that. It turns out even people who know the most about medicine can be Olympic‑level avoiders when the spotlight turns on their own health. Mom: The Gold Star Student of Preventative Care My mom, on the other hand, was the poster child for Doing Everything Right. Regular checkups? Check. Balanced nutrition? Check. Exercise? Check. Vitamins? Probably alphabetized. And it helped — for a long time. Then she had strokes, and her memory took a hit. It was a reminder that even the most proactive among us can’t control everything. So, what about me? Cue the existential midlife moment where I stare at my family tree like it’s a medical bingo card and wonder: Am I genetically doomed, or can I actually do something about this? Some people shrug and say, “When it’s my time, it’s my time.” I respect that philosophy, but I’m more of a “God also allowed us to invent healthcare, so maybe let’s use it” kind of girl. Here’s where I’ve landed: Genetics matter But they are not the boss of me Lifestyle matters Screenings matter Paying attention matters And pretending nothing is wrong is not my ministry I can’t rewrite my DNA, but I can absolutely influence how loudly it speaks. Why I’m Choosing the Proactive Path I want to be here — really here — for my daughter. I want to be the mom who’s still showing up, still laughing, still telling stories, still causing mild chaos in my fabulous 70s and 80s. So, I’m choosing to be proactive. Not paranoid. Not obsessive. Just intentional. Because I’ve seen what happens when you ignore the warning signs. And I’ve seen what happens when you fight like hell to stay healthy. And I’m choosing the middle lane — the one with balance, awareness, and a little sass. It’s not just about me wanting to stick around for the long haul — I want my loved ones right here beside me, laughing, adventuring, and causing trouble well into our golden years. So yes, I absolutely encourage the people I care about to be proactive about their health too. Not in a bossy, “Did you schedule your colonoscopy?” way (okay… maybe sometimes). More in a “Hey, I love you, and I want you around for a very long time, so let’s not play chicken with our arteries” kind of way. Because life is better when the people you adore are healthy enough to enjoy it with you. And if I can nudge them toward a checkup or two along the way, consider me a very enthusiastic nudger. Final Thought I’m not doomed. I’m not powerless. And I’m not repeating anyone’s story. I’m writing my own — one checkup, one walk, one good meal, one laugh, and one brave choice at a time.

Our word of the year is keep. Keep moving. Keep loving. Keep creating. Keep beginning. Cute, right? Well, this month we’re leveling up. We’re not just dipping a toe into the unknown — we’re cannonballing straight into it. Welcome to April’s theme: Keep Risking. Let’s define it for the people in the back: Risk — uncertainty that could lead to a positive result. (Yes, positive. Not “burn your life down,” not “oops I ruined everything,” but positive.) Risks come in all flavors: Safety. Financial. Personal. Creative. Business. Emotional. Basically, if it makes your stomach flip like a carnival ride, it counts. And honey… I’ve been flipping. As many of you know, I published my first book in February. That alone was a risk — the kind that makes you hit “submit” and then immediately consider moving to a remote village where no one can read reviews. But I did it. I put my name on a book that might be brilliant, might be mediocre, or might be the literary equivalent of a casserole someone politely eats around the edges. And now? Now I’m stepping into the world of book fairs. Yes, book fairs — where indie authors, traditionally published authors, and every flavor of writer in between gather to talk craft, swap war stories, and pretend we’re not all silently wondering if anyone will stop at our table. It’s a place where readers wander by, pick up your book, flip through it, and decide if it “floats their boat.” (No pressure.) Do I know what to expect? Absolutely not. Am I going anyway? Absolutely yes. Because here’s the thing: the local author community has been nothing but warm, generous, and full of advice I didn’t even know I needed. It feels like walking into a room where everyone remembers their first fair jitters and hands you a metaphorical snack and pep talk. And speaking of new experiences — I recorded two podcasts this week. Two! Me! Talking into a microphone like I know what I’m doing. It was fun, it was weird, it was a risk… and I loved it. What I’m learning is this: Writing a book doesn’t end with writing a book. Oh no. Then you become a marketer, a promoter, a spokesperson, a walking billboard, and occasionally a human QR code. It’s a whole different skill set — and a whole different kind of vulnerability. But here’s what I’ve risked so far: Putting my name on a book that might flop or fly Investing time in a project with no guaranteed outcome Stepping into a community where I’m the new kid Letting myself be seen — fully, creatively, imperfectly And even though I’m still in the messy middle of this adventure, I can already say it: The risk is worth it. There may even be more risks on the horizon. (Oh yes… stay tuned.) Now let’s talk about you. Are you flirting with a risk? Is something tugging at your sleeve, whispering “try me”? Are you at a point in your life where you’re ready to leap — or at least wobble forward with shaky confidence? Tell us. Share your risks, your almost‑risks, your “I’m thinking about it but also panicking” risks. We’re all figuring it out together here at Kicking the Chaos, and your story might be exactly what someone else needs to hear.