Happy Birthday to Me!

Today I turn fifty-seven.  A lot of people my age aren’t that keen on getting older, but I’m jazzed about my birthday coming around again.  I'm still breathing!  Other than experiencing some annoying hot flashes and an increasing number of arthritic joints, I’m happier now than I can remember ever having been.  Of course, my mind these days is like a sieve, and the fact that I can’t recall ever having been in a better headspace might just mean that my memory isn't what it used to be.  (Ha!)

Anyway, each year on my birthday I review my calendar to see what I’ve been up to during the past twelve months.  In case you're curious, here’s the raw data from 2010-2011.

I'm Back

Four years. That’s how long I’ve been working on my novel about a late bloomer. And what a revelatory process it’s been. Whether my book ends up selling dozens of copies or millions, I’ve been enriched by the process.

Is it done? No.

I’d hoped it would be finished by the time I started blogging again, but at least I’m on the downward stretch and can see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. There were times I doubted I had the stamina, let alone the skill, to write a readable story, but I kept working at my craft, cranking out the pages.

Why am I telling you this? Because there’s a lesson here:

Even if you’re not sure you’ve got what it takes to do what you dream of doing, go for it. Take classes, if you think that would help. Join some kind of support group, if you’re the kind of person who needs encouragement. Find a mentor. Experiment. Perhaps even take a break for a while. (I did all of these.)

But don’t give up.


P.S. I became a first-time grandmother this summer. Here are two photos of Lydia Rose, born July 2nd in New York City--one of her with her father, my 33-year old son Gabe; the other with my 86-year old mom and me. What an incredible experience it's been watching my child nurture his child!

Room For Us All

Whenever I do a “Breaking Into Publishing” event, aspiring authors invariably ask me whether they should worry about sharing their ideas with others before their books are in the marketplace.

I understand the fear behind this question. We’ve been taught that there’s only so much space on bookstore shelves and, worse yet, that there are individuals out there trolling for good ideas, just waiting to steal ours.

Frankly, I don't worry about such things. I truly believe that there's room for us all. If you write well and your words resound with truth (granted, those are big ifs), you will find an audience. Just as no two snowflakes are alike, every book is unique. Each one of us has our own voice, our own take on any given topic.

When was the last time you swung on a tire?

Note: The above profile pic was taken by Scott Mullen for an article about me in a local newspaper. I've known Scott since elementary school, but until this shoot, hadn't seen him in 36 yrs. How cool is that?

Staying Healthy to the End

If you're not in good health, it's difficult to focus on achieving your dreams.

Take my dad. He smoked three packs of unfiltered Camels a day and drank like a fish. Tray upon cardboard tray stacked with empty cans of Shaeffer ("the one beer to have when you're having more than one") piled up in our garage each week for the garbage man to haul away. By the time he was in his 60's, my father's arteries were so clogged and his lungs so weak that he could barely walk a city block without stopping to rest. He died at 71.

My 85-year old mom is the opposite. She walks almost every day, gardens seven months a year, and has eaten well her whole life. Her sense of balance is a little iffy and her hearing is shot, but she's still agile and active.

The other night, someone asked me what I think I'll be doing at age 75. "Gosh, I hope I'll be writing my third or fourth novel," I said.

There are no guarantees I'll still be healthy at that age; but like my mom, I take care of myself. I exercise faithfully, cook by color, eat low on the food chain, and generally avoid unpronounceable ingredients. In other words, I'm trying to increase my odds.

As Jane Brody writes in a recent NY Times Personal Health column I highly recommend titled Living Longer, in Good Health to the End, "[H]ow people live accounts for more than half the difference in how hale and hearty they will remain. . . ."

Note: Although my friend Ann two years ago gave me the skirt I'm wearing above, this week is the first time I've been able to fit into it. I haven't gained or lost any significant weight since I was last pregnant in 1983, but I recently stepped up my home exercise routine to combat the effects of menopause on my waistline. I should knock on wood (health, after all, is influenced in part by genetics), but I feel great.

Oh, and just for fun, here's one of those old Shaefer ads:

From my journal...

I want to manifest my inner extraordinariness. If that sounds grandiose, so be it. Why shouldn't I, why shouldn't we all, desire to be our best selves?

This isn't to say that I want to be my most moral self, or even my kindest self, although I certainly work at being honorable and kind (the phrase "work at" being the operative one). No, what I want is to be my most authentic self. And when it comes to revealing who I am, what could be more extraordinary than that?

Exercise of the Week: Rediscovering Delight

Let's face it: Most of us take ourselves waaaay too seriously. (Will your world really fall apart if you don't accomplish everything on your "to-do" list?) Plus, when you're not enjoying your life, chances are that you're harming your health and adversely affecting, in ways little and large, everyone around you.

To help lighten up, here's another exercise from Julia Cameron. As with most of her "assignments," it's best to do this one fast and furiously to allow submerged thoughts and memories to bubble to the surface.

Instructions

1. Remember yourself at eight.
2. What did you do at that age that you enjoyed? What were your favorite things?
3. Now, write a letter from you at that age to you at your current age. What would you tell yourself?

I did this exercise in 2001 and scribbled the following:

Dear 47-year old Prill,

Enjoy yourself more, sweetie. Get a toy box and throw things in it. Read a fairy book. Sing under a bridge. Win a race. Ride a bike. Eat a raspberry sherbet cone. Rent a funky house with a porch and a hillside. Pretend you're a milkman. Notice the walking stick on the sidewalk and be delighted by it. Dress up in a crazy costume. Jump on the bed once in a while. Drink lemonade through a curly straw. Celebrate your birthday with a pink cake. Play, dream, then play some more.

Love,
8-year old Prill

While I haven't pretended to be a milkman yet (and probably never will), I have taken much of this advice. I sang under a bridge and signed up for singing lessons, started spending summers at a house with a porch on a hillside overlooking a river, began being more observant on my walks, dressed up more than once in a crazy costume, and even jumped on my bed.

Note: The above photo was taken when I was six, not eight.

Living Up To Our Potential

One of the readers of this blog recently commented that wearing a blue wig and a fake tattoo isn’t being bold. (See my 8/06/08 post.) Fair enough. That said, it’s precisely those kind of small, seemingly silly steps that have taken me from being the kind of person who hesitates to phone strangers to a woman who feels at ease in almost any situation.

More than anything else I have done, or recommend others do, my eight-and-a-half year “bold-thing-a-day” practice has been the most important element of my success. It pushes me to try new things, to speak the truth, to reach out to others. Yesterday, I rode my bike in traffic. Today I plan to interview someone I met last week at the National Speaker’s Convention. Who knows what I'll do tomorrow.


Note: The above photo was taken at a break-out session I attended at the NSA Convention. ("The First 30 Seconds: Rock Their World...and Then Some!") It was sent to me by the presenter, Dave Timmons, who quit his corporate job in midlife to become a musician. He's the person I plan to do a phone interview with this afternoon.

Talk about being bold!

I rode on a NYC subway looking like this!

(I say this tongue in cheek. Far bolder to live and speak one's truth.)

Photo Credit: Janet Luongo, a friend and fellow NSA Convention attendee.

Becoming an Independent Thinker

I was pleased to read a few days ago that both Botswana's president, Seretse Khama Ian Khama, and his foreign minister, Phandu Skelemani, have been taking a principled stand against President Mugabe and the sham election in Zimbabwe. Responding to a reporter's comment about Mugabe's 28-year reign and his desire to hold onto power, Skelemani replied, "What power? Power to run the country into the ground?"

This reminds me of a study I read about a while back (I can't remember where) that explored the differences between people who sacrifice their humanity during episodes of genocide and those who maintain it. The researchers concluded that the people who were most likely to speak out and/or take action, either overtly or subversively, against oppressive regimes were those who had made a lifelong habit of being independent thinkers.

Many of the aspiring late bloomers I've heard from via my website and this blog confess that one of the things that holds them back is worrying about what others think of their choices. It is my belief that only when we cease to care about such things, can we hope to blossom into our unique, beautiful selves.


Note: To read an article from the Botswana Gazette about Skelemani, click here. The photo above is of me sitting at a bus stop in Botswana last year surrounded by other people's luggage. (The blue and brown bags are mine.)

A Choice

This morning I'm off to Cuttyhunk, a small island seven miles off the coast of Martha's Vineyard. My fifth major trip this summer. I know it seems like I have a wonderful life, and I do. But I'm exhausted. I have to remind myself that these trips are my choice and that I've had a good reason for each. Sometimes just acknowledging this simple fact--that even when we think we don't have a choice, we do--is all it takes to get re-energized. (I need to hear this today.)

Note: The photos above and at right were taken last week in Tahoe at my husband's triennial family reunion. This year over 60 people attended. Pictured at right are Mike's mom (far right) and her five living sisters. I'm near the middle of the top photo. Yes, I really am that short. A five-foot two midget among a family of giants.

More Global Volunteer Opportunities

Adding to last year's list (see 3/17/07 posting), here are three more volunteer opportunities that are designed to expand your horizons, no matter what your age:

CROSS CULTURAL SOLUTIONS
(Actually, I mentioned this last year, but it's worth listing again.) Programs run from 1-12 weeks and focus on everything from working in orphanages to teaching English. 12 countries including Guatemala, India, Thailand, and Costa Rica. Visit www.crossculturalsolutions.org.

GLOBAL VOLUNTEERS
Volunteer vacations to 16 countries. Activities include caring for at-risk children, teaching English, repairing community buildings, etc. Visit www.globalvolunteers.org.

APPALACHIAN TRAIL CONSERVANCY
Offers 1-6 week trips to rebuild and maintain the 2,100-mile Appalachian National Scenic Trail. Visit www.appalachiantrail.org.

Note: The above photo, which was taken in February '07, is of me speaking to a group of schoolgirls in Sowa, Botswana. Not the most flattering shot of me, but it was the best I could find in my files to illustrate the idea of global volunteering.

The information above was excerpted from USA Today on 12/7/07 (p. 5D).

Gift to Myself

Today I bought myself a bike for my 54th birthday and took it for a spin. I'm in heaven!

Save the Date

If you live in Southern CT, a heads-up that I'll be giving a speech and doing some Q & A at Housatonic Community College in Bridgeport next Thursday, Feb. 28th, from 11 a.m. to noon in Room A-101. The event is being sponsored by the Women's Center and is free to the public. Should be fun!

Note: The photo above was taken the day of the event. --pb (3/13/03)

Girlfriend Time

I'm off to the Vineyard with my Creative Women's Business Group and won't be blogging again until next week. If you haven't read my posting about the importance of having strong support systems, click here.

Birthday Musings

A woman came up to me this morning and said, "Don't you think it's time for a new headshot?" She seemed to think I look older in person than I do in my publicity photos.

I've been thinking the same thing.

The pictures I use were taken in the fall of 2003, and I probably should get some new ones. (The photo at right was taken today.) Still, to hear it from someone else on my 53rd birthday was deflating, to say the least.

But then in a flash of defiant delight, I thought to myself: I like how I look, and despite the sting, I like hearing the truth.

I'm not sure I could have said that twenty years ago.

Shape Shifting

My son Everett was in California last week and e-mailed me the following LA Times article by columnist Meghan Daum. (I love Daum's wry sense of humor!) To read the full text, click here.

TRY THIS WRINKLE: GROW UP
Botox rolls back the clock, but do you want to go there?
April 21, 2007

. . . . My big problem with Botox and other anti-aging procedures is not that they're shallow, or that their corollary is that too many of the moms on TV are played by actresses already so young you'd think every kid on a sitcom was the result of a teen pregnancy. It's that all of it has succeeded in extending the self-consciousness of youth into middle age, effectively undermining our ability to come to terms with our looks and concentrate on more pressing matters (for instance, foreign policy or, barring that, our lower backs). Because we're so versed in what a drag it is getting old, we seem to have developed a collective amnesia about the chaos, humiliations and downright stupidity that comes with being young.

Sure, our faces might look great when we're 25, but what about the entry-level jobs, the revolving roommates, the relationships founded entirely upon takeout Indian food and mediocre sex? (These are all hypotheticals, honest.) Though you wouldn't know it from watching "Friends," being in your 20s isn't all it's cracked up to be. As nice as it is to have your whole life ahead of you, it's somewhat less nice to be broke, condescended to and confused about everything from career choices to personal stye. . . .

I realize that the idea behind getting Botox is to preserve our original selves, but anyone who's honest about the whole enterprise knows that the altered face is less "preserved" than it is brand new.

And that's why there's something so drearily adolescent about the whole thing. Just when many of us are finally starting to know ourselves as adults, we're expected to start shape shifting again. Like the teenager who walks into a vintage clothing store and suddenly decides to trade all her Gap clothes for Betty Boop dresses (again, a hypothetical), we get pushed by the easy availability of this youth-preserving technology to second-guess ourselves and spend time and money deciding what we should look like.

At 16, that's healthy (if cringe-inducing later on.) At 40, it's a sacrifice of our God-given right to let nature take its course so we can get on to more interesting things. . . .

Amen to that!

Note: The picture at right shows me with my 84 year old mother. My mom colors her hair and wears lipstick, but she's never had Botox or plastic surgery. She looks her age (as do many of the men and women I've interviewed), but that doesn't mean she isn't beautiful.

The public-domain photograph at the top of this posting is of a 19th century painting by Viktor Vasnetsov titled "Tsarevna Frog" (a frog metamorphoses into a princess).

Ninety and Still Going Strong

Every morning, rain or shine, 90-year old Amsterdam hotelier Pierre Wynnobel wheels his bicycle across his backyard, opens the gate to the alley behind his pensione, and rides off to do his daily shopping.

It's not uncommon to see older men and women riding in Amsterdam, a place that curiously has more bikes than people. But even by Amsterdam standards, bicycling at 90 is unusual.

I just returned from seven days in this romantic city (that's me, at left, on a canal tour), where I had the pleasure of staying with Pierre, my husband's second cousin.

Watching this remarkably robust man practice the piano each evening (see photo above), I was struck by how much he still enjoys life.

Although Pierre admits he's depressed to have outlived his friends, he spends far more time laughing than lamenting.

Who is to say whether Pierre's attitude and bike riding have contributed to his longevity?

But they certainly haven't hurt.

Truth Talk

When I was writing Defying Gravity, I implored my interviewees to be as truthful as they possibly could. "The more honest you are," I said, "the more your story will help others.”

Looking over my Africa entries, I hope I haven’t created the impression that I’m some brave adventurer who thinks nothing of traveling alone to a third-world country.

The truth is that in the weeks approaching my departure, I had a lot of anxiety about the trip. I worried about getting mugged in Johannesburg. I worried that I would feel compelled out of politeness to eat all sorts of foul-tasting, exotic foods. I worried that the civil unrest created by Zimbabwe’s imploding economy would spill into the tourist areas surrounding Victoria Falls. I even worried about the weight of my wheelless duffel (wheeled luggage doesn’t drag well on dirt roads), which I knew I would be schlepping on my shoulder as I walked from place to place.

As it turns out, I didn’t get mugged, didn’t contract malaria (I got bitten by mosquitoes in the Chobe Game Reserve, but was taking anti-malarial prophylactics), didn't feel unsafe at Vic Falls (except while sharing the ladies' room with a troop of baboons), and wasn’t forced to eat anything I didn't like. (I ate crocodile, but it was by choice.) Yes, my bag was heavy, but I was able to carry it myself. (That's me, at left, waiting to collect my luggage at an airport in Botswana.)

I’m sure luck played a role in my good fortune, but it wasn't luck alone. I thought through the risks and prepared for the worst. Before leaving the States, for instance, I e-mailed the proprietor of the guest house I was staying at in Johannesburg and asked him how much a cab should cost from the airport to his place. I also printed out directions. When rogue drivers accosted me at the Johannesburg Airport, I avoided eye contact, walked straight to the rank of official cabs, and interviewed the drivers to see which one would take me to the guest house for a fair price.

Perhaps I'm a brave adventurer after all. Who knows?

All I can say is that I’m grateful to have Bonnie Orton as a role model, grateful to have finally seen Botswana’s breathtakingly beautiful sky (see photo above), grateful to have met so many huge-hearted people, and grateful that I didn’t let my fears get in the way of my dreams.

Photo Credit: Kris Verswe (from the website: www.trekearth.com/gallery/Africa/Botswana)

Taking Flight

Who knows what heights we’re capable of soaring to until we test our wings?

I thought I was traveling to Botswana to do research for a novel I’m writing, to get a sense of the land and its people. But even though I was expecting the unexpected, I never anticipated that at 52 years of age I'd be hitching a three-hour ride across the Botswanan bush in the back of a truck.

Most of all, I never imagined that I would be speaking to schools and businesses about leadership. I thought my audiences would be small groups of adolescent females and that I’d be sharing with them what I’ve learned about achieving dreams.

Some of my talks indeed fit this description. (See photos, above and left, taken at the Flamingo School in Sowa, Botswana. FYI: In the top one, I'm sitting next to Mike Muller, the principal.)

But many did not. My very first speech, for instance, was to a group of 500 or so teenagers, many of them male. There was no P.A. system; and looking out at the sea of faces, I knew that to keep the students' attention, I’d have to speak forcefully. I also knew that I'd have to reframe my remarks so that they'd resonate with boys as much as with girls.

My stomach was fluttering. It was the first time I’d ever spoken to such a large group without a microphone. To top it off, I was inaugurating a new speech about the connection between daring to dream and becoming a leader. (More on this in another posting.) But with the support of my friend and traveling companion Bonnie Orton (see Nov. 11, 2006 posting), I rose to the challenge.

I don’t know what challenges you’re facing right now. But I do know that if you can find within yourself the courage to explore the margins of your being and meet the trials you face head on, you will will lift off.

And in my experience, nothing is more exhilarating than that.

Photo Credits: Bonnie Orton