If someone told me 15 years ago, that by the time I turned 60 I would have sold my Queen Anne home, moved aboard a sailboat, bought property in Panama, and begun a new career as a freelance writer I would have laughed. “That’s someone else’s life,” I would have thought. “Someone more daring, adventurous and trusting, than I.”
But that is exactly what has happened. And not because I suddenly found that I was daring, adventurous or trusting. Not at all. My life, which I had fought so hard to drive in the direction I thought it was meant to go in, got sick of waiting for me and headed off on its own path without looking back. I continued to look for detours and side roads, screaming, “Wait up! You’re going the wrong way!” But to no avail. This thing had a life of its own.
The same could be said for my decision to leave New York for Seattle so many years ago. Tired of disappointing relationships, I had decided to live my life as a cool, independent, single woman in a city where no one knew me. Within a year of arriving in Seattle, I was married, living in a house on Queen Anne and days away from giving birth to my elder daughter. That was not the plan!
Or was it? Continue reading