family – And Then I Jumped……

Ctrl + Shift….. New perspectives

I’m not alone in this transition. It’s real. It happens to many of us and it’s scary letting go of what grounded us for so long. Who are we without our habits, traditions and patterns? I haven’t been sure where I now fit or where I belong but that is because I was trying too hard to hold on. I didn’t realize that if I just let go, I might feel free. If I let go, I might find more. How to let go of control and shift into new beginnings.

It was Sunday November 30, 2025. A bleak and boring afternoon and also bloody cold. I was walking the dogs and listening to my podcast. Truly boring until it wasn’t.

The dogs were unbelievably boisterous that day and for whatever reason, even though they had ACRES of land to romp and play, they chose to come charging up behind me and inadvertently took me out at the knees. It was so fast that I couldn’t even feel the world stop. I was flung up in the air and came crashing down to earth, smashing my wrist and ankle on frozen ground. I heard the bones break. It wasn’t pretty. I know this because it was one of those painful moments when you actually have to roll over and be sick because of the pain.

I gingerly lifted my head and looked to see the damage. My hand was curled like an aging wicked witch and I couldn’t move it. Broken. Definitely broken.

I am no stranger to broken wrists. Heck, I broke my right wrist the first time in 2019 and again last November. Both were “sport” injuries which made for good stories. This was nothing exciting, almost pathetic but terribly painful.

I was able to move to my side to get my phone. I called my family. This would have been a good time for someone in my family to answer. But no answer. Terrific. Now I was going to die out in the wilderness. Great.

I lay back down and contemplated what freezing to death might be like. I realized that it could take a while. Sure it was cold but it was a November cold, not January cold in Eastern Canada. It seemed like a better plan to try and figure out how to walk back to the car. That would be faster except that everything hurt. Even my foot. I would later learn that I broke a bone in foot. That would explain the pain.

I am not sure how but I finally made it back to the car and tried the family again. No answer. More voicemail. If I had been having a heart attack, I can assure you I would be dead before anyone answered. Like seriously, it’s not like I call them every hour of every day. Surely, twice in under an hour might have sparked some concern? “No problem family, I’ll be fine”.

Thankfully, a friend called just when I wasn’t sure what to do next and she was there in five minutes to pick me up to take me to the hospital. As for the dogs, I locked them in the car. F#ckers.

I remain eternally grateful that our little town has a hospital and a wonderful medical team. The xray confirmed that the wrist had shattered rather nicely and because it was pretty bad, they had to do a closed reduction. This sounded very civilized or maybe anything sounded good when under the influence of fantastic drugs.

A closed reduction is painful. They have to try and put the bones back into some sort of alignment which involved separating the bones and trying to put them back so they looked kind of straight. More drugs, a light anesthesia and at least the bones were stretched and kind of back together.

At this point, there might have been a little too much punch in the pills and I was sick. So sick. But good news, my family finally noticed that I was missing and arrived at the hospital. “Find My Friends” app is a miracle. It was Owen who kind of wondered where I was and noticed I was at the hospital. He thought I was visiting someone until he noticed multiple calls. Two and two still makes four and he came to find me and then called the rest of the family. To Megan’s credit, she was legitimately out of cell service. The new joke in the family is that they are going to get me a panic button to wear when I go out alone. Funny.

It was nice to have them there. Also, Wayne held hand while I barfed. I’m not really sure why he got me a garbage can as a barf bag. Hospitals have those cute little plastic bowls but oh no, nothing but the best for his wife.

Fast forward to the next day when my daughter Megan drove into the “big” city for an ortho consult. It was really incredible. Almost abandoned in the woods and less than 18 hours later I had surgery and was sent home with a plate and 9 screws in my arm and bundled up in a cast with strict orders not to pick up anything; not even a teacup for the next six weeks.

Great. The holiday season in a cast. That should be easy.

“Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you’re gonna get.” ~Forrest Gump

My tombstone will never say “she lived life in free flow”. It will likely say,
“Shelley Sim – control freak and addicted to lists and yellow stickies” True story.

I have tried to control most things. The weather was exempt. My children were not. Well, until they fired me and I became redundant to their lives. It was bound to happen. They cut the string and it felt like being thrown off a building and falling aimlessly into an abyss. I wasn’t sure how I was going to land, if I was going to land, what would catch me.

I landed. It was messy and my ego was bruised. Twenty nine years I had control of the clan and then I didn’t. Who was I if not their “mother” with an abundance of unwanted advice? Now, I was an invalid and dependent on the children to drive me. I guess not all my unwanted advice wasn’t useless and unwanted as they willingly took up the task of “Driving Miss Daisy”. Megan even decorated the house for Christmas.

Speaking of Christmas, surely this was a domain where I could still have that sliver of control to keep the traditions. If only.

I dislike Christmas. It’s like Instagram on steroids and I cannot compete. I am not perfect. Yet I try. Christmas 2025 was not my best.

A shattered wrist made me dependent on others. I strongly dislike being dependent. Asking for help is uncomfortable. The universe was certainly having a good laugh.

There are a few things that anchor our Christmas season. The biggest is that our family leads a community dinner for December 24th. For this year, it was anticipated that we would be making over 550 meals. For someone that can’t stand cooking, there is irony that this is the event that I am passionate about. What I do believe is that I am not the only one that dislikes Christmas and preparing meals is a way of ensuring that people feel seen and that they belong. It’s an effort and I am eternally grateful to my community that they care the same way I do. Food costs are high and yet, my little community gives generously. It’s not just the donations but also the 70 volunteers that gather to peel hundreds of pounds of vegetables and deliver meals as well as serve to those who come to the sit down evening dinner on December 24th. Normally, I have it all “under control” Until this year. This year, I was royally f@cked.

One should never order food under the influence of opioids. Why I felt it was a good idea to order LESS food than 2024 knowing that I had over 100 more meals to prepare still boggles my mind. It was a startling moment on the night of December 23rd when we ran out of food. Help. I needed help.

I called everyone I could and by some miracle, everyone I called answered with further generosity. More volunteers came, the grocery store delivered and our new little boutique market cooked more ham in their fabulous new ovens. While I am not a fan of Christmas, I do appreciate a good miracle. The universe may laugh as I am humbled but it smiles when I finally get the message. Sort of. There was more to learn.

With Christmas Eve behind us, I could focus on the family and Christmas Day. We have certain traditions and this year, I had my mom and her husband, my dad and his fiancée along with my father-in-law. We also had our youngest son Owen and we were excited to have our daughter Megan and her fiancée join us for Christmas morning. So far so good.

The plan was for us all to gather first thing Christmas morning but we had to wait for Megan and her partner. Her fiancée has his own family traditions. He needed to go see them. Really? They live here, “our” family had come from afar. Can’t we be the priority? Rude. So we waited. They arrived and it was lovely. Different but lovely and yet, I confess to being irritated. I had a vision of what it was supposed to be and had a difficult time bending to having to wait. Sharing is not one of my strong suits. I also was missing our eldest son who was thousands of km’s away working in Alaska. It was a “gap” and it went against “tradition” and how I wanted it “to be”. Oh wait, is that the Universe having another laugh. I think it is.

Christmas dinner was also going to be different. Megan was hosting at their place with all her fiancée’s family. Twenty eight people in total. We arrived and I felt awkward. My awkwardness manifested as annoyance. I made a big deal out of small things. Why did HIS family have stronger presence and where was the “tradition”? Please give me back control so that I could “manage” this. Now the Universe was just howling with glee.

I was upset because things were changing. Things weren’t as they once were, where it was familiar and comfortable. I wasn’t just redundant, now I felt that I had lost my place. Of course this isn’t true. Things just shifted. Traditions were changing and the family was expanding. From the outside, this should be a seamless passage but it’s harder than it looks. Again, the theme of 2025, holding on too tight and not seeing that the chapter that was about to unfold included new traditions and the opportunity to be accepted into a larger family that had so much to give.

Megan’s fiancée’s family is nothing but lovely and kind and caring. I just felt outnumbered. He has a BIG extended family. What I should have seen was a family opening their arms but I was still stuck in wanting to “control” what it should be, how it “used” to be. Everyone else had wonderful desserts, I ate humble pie.

My dad wasn’t feeling well so I took him and his fiancée back home. I was glad for the time with him and enjoyed the rest of the evening but I lamented that we weren’t all together sitting by the fire in front of the Christmas tree. The rest of the crew stayed at Megan’s and participated in the Cornhole competition. Who plays Cornhole at Christmas? They did and Bert, my father-in-law at age 86 got second place! He was a star!

Christmas was different than I had hoped and imagined. This mid-life bit really is tricky. People move on. Things change. Evolution. Not that it really worked out for the dinosaurs.

Life moves on. The Prime Minister of Canada, Mark Carney, gave a superb speech this past week at Davos. He said, “We know the old order is not coming back. We shouldn’t mourn it. Nostalgia is not a strategy,”. While my life is not world politics, the sentiment applied. I was holding onto nostalgia and not adapting to change.

My daughter has a wonderful husband to be. She is marrying into a large family that loves to be together and is very eager to embrace us. I want to also embrace them and have to let go of what was and be enthusiastic about new beginnings but I wanted it on my terms. So silly. How lucky we are that she has found such love with so many people. It’s a mother’s dream that her daughter is so loved and yet, I was a stick in the mud. That needed to change. I needed to change. I needed to grow into a new reality that come with new traditions and new relationships. I was just mourning old ways and if I kept holding on, I would be left out. Did I mention the dinosaurs? I wasn’t being left behind, I was being invited to be a part of something new.

When I visited my sister in November, she gave me a book called SHIFT – 7 Mindsets for an Inspired Midlife, written by Peter Reek. It seemed timely to pick it up post Christmas. Barely into the book, everything “shifted” for me.

“The first half of life is all about building – identity; achievement a place in the world. But the second half invites a different kind of work. It calls us inward. It ask us to loosen our grip on the self we’ve so carefully constructed and begin the gentler, braver process of release. Our focus shifts from crisis to opportunity. It’s a change to refocus, redefine, and realign our lives with our deeper, more spiritual aspirations.”

“Embracing midlife is recognizing and seizing the opportunity that comes with age. It’s shifting from a mindset of acquisition to one of meaning and purpose. As we navigate this journey, we can find peace in the transition, knowing our experiences have equipped us with the wisdom to live more authentically and purposefully. The second half of life provides us with the opportunity to leverage the hindsight of the first. We can step more deeply and confidently into who we are and focus on the relationships and pursuits that are most important to us. We can also let go of those things that have kept us from doing so.”

He goes on to say that our best years are not behind us but ahead of us. “The second half doesn’t start with a blaze of glory, but with a deep breath. A lighter step. A willingness to let go of what no longer serves us.” “The road ahead isn’t about become someone entirely new. It’s about becoming more of you. Clearer. Kinder. Less burdened by the weight of proving, and more alive to the wonder of simply being”. Lastly, this stage of transition is a paradox. “The quiet mark of wisdom. Learning to live in the stretch between what was and what’s next”.

Living between what was and what’s next; Control-shift. A way forward. I get that now.

Much of 2025 was about this paradox. I was trying to hold on when in fact, it is about what’s comes next. This sentiment has given me comfort. I’m not alone in this transition. It’s real. It happens to many of us and it’s scary letting go of what grounded us for so long. Who are we without our habits, traditions and patterns? I haven’t been sure where I now fit or where I belong but that is because I was trying too hard to hold on. I didn’t realize that if I just let go, I might feel free. If I let go, I might find more. How to let go of control and shift into new beginnings.

I found solace in the following parable.

In a small village, there lived a woman who often felt weighed down by habits, routines, and fears she wished she could outgrow. One evening, while working at her old computer, she accidentally pressed Control + Shift, and her application updated instantly—new layout, new perspective.

She paused.

It struck her that life, too, has its own “Ctrl + Shift” moments.

Control, she realized, was about recognizing what she could hold in her own hands—her choices, her reactions, her willingness to grow.

Shift was about lifting herself just a little higher—changing her angle, her mindset, her approach.

And so she began to practice this quietly powerful command in her daily life:

When old frustration returned, she pressed Control—taking ownership of her response.
When fear whispered familiar doubts, she pressed Shift—choosing a different thought.
When life presented the same problems again and again, she pressed Control + Shift—updating herself instead of waiting for the world to change.

Over time, people noticed that she walked with more calm, more clarity, more purpose.
Someone once asked her, “What changed?”

She smiled gently.
“Nothing around me changed,” she said. “I just learned the power of Ctrl + Shift—to take control of the moment and shift who I am becoming.”

So here I am in 2026. Shifting. Understanding the need for a reset. Being willing to update myself. My resolution for 2026 is to do more things that I think I might be terrible at. So far it has been incredibly fun. With a broken wrist, I couldn’t join in on winter activities and had to search out new activities. I joined a group making homemade cards. Most of the group made four, I was happy to have completed one. I painted ceramics. My creation was worse than anything I could have done in a kindergarten class and resembled an underwater Armageddon. Despite the instructors belief that it would look “better once fired”, it was still awful but I had a great time.

I’ve also taken up Cornhole. It’s fantastic! Once I laid down my obnoxious bias of what it “should be”, it gave way to new connections and I’m having the time of my life exploring new hobbies, new relationships and new ways to connect. Maybe midlife is actually something to look forward to. Maybe, it’s awesome.

Life is messy, transition is hard and the curve balls are brutal and the Universe laughing doesn’t help.

What I have learned is that I if I lean in, I find better connection and can be delighted by the unexpected. Way back in an earlier post, I cited “it doesn’t happen TO you, it happens FOR you.” True story.

2025 was a difficult year. Not knowing where I fit, wondering if I was relevant and being confused about what would feel the void. I left 2025 feeling grateful for the lessons of connection and the glorious results of being vulnerable and asking for help. It has opened my world wider. I don’t have to have control. I can have vision and I can enjoy the ride and the many wonderful people that I meet along the way. I want to make the shift and let go of the control. It’s had its place but no longer and that feels so much lighter.

Yes, I’m scared. I don’t know what it will look like. It’s humbling and it’s hard but it’s far more fun than holding on to what no longer works. Nostalgia is not a strategy; it is what was and those memories are beautiful, it’s just not the future of our reality. I need to adapt. Maybe it’s ok to let go of things that no longer work. This might mean letting go of relationships and habits that used to be comfortable but they no longer work. It’s doesn’t have to be dramatic rather soft change that allows me to live more authentically to who I am. “Shifting” doesn’t have to be a loud change, rather it’s quieter. The ability to blend into a new reality. To be open to what comes next, to try new things.

My “shift” is to embrace the ambiguity of not knowing but being optimistic instead of static. To lean into the adventure and not know the outcome. To stay focused on values that matter rather than traditions that might have held me hostage to what was. I will say it again, this is not easy but I will be the way of the dinosaur if I don’t get with the times and make these shifts.

We don’t know what’s ahead. It can change in a second. I realize that the secret sauce is to live in the moment. My need to control in the first half of life was to lay the foundation. That was accomplished. That chapter is complete. For 2026, I want to learn to learn how to cross the chasm; the stretch that exists between “what was and what’s next”.

I wish you the very best for 2026. That whatever has been holding you back, you can lay it down and be less burdened and less weighted down by any “should’s” that you are carrying. And if you are in free fall between what was and what might be, you are not alone no matter what stage of life. Find a hand to hold and buckle up. You can do this. What if the best years are not behind us but really are in front of us!

With care and love for all that 2026 brings,

Shelley

Being Fired & Letting Go….

Our youngest, Owen, arrived back from college and announced “Mom, I’ve got this”. I wasn’t really sure what this meant. Did he mean that he might finally clean his room? Give the bathroom a scrub? Take out the garbage? Make dinner? What did “I’ve got this” mean?

I never wanted children. I leaned more towards having a cleaning lady. The math made more sense. Also, I do love a good clean floor. It continues to surprise me that I have three children and 35 chickens. More surprising is the 10-year gap between our eldest and the youngest. Many think our youngest, Owen, is a result of a second marriage. Not so. I have vague recollections of a six pack of Corona and a sunny afternoon. But that’s another story.

For 29 years I have been a mother to three wonderful children. Yes, I made mistakes and have fully committed to paying their therapy bills but overall, they are great and they bring me joy. I spent years cheering at games, volunteering at bake sales, coaching, excelling at 50/50 sales, attending parent committee meetings and being a part of launching young souls into the world of adulthood. And then, this past April, I was officially laid off. More directly, I was fired.

Our youngest, Owen, arrived back from college and announced “Mom, I’ve got this”. I wasn’t really sure what this meant. Did he mean that he might finally clean his room? Give the bathroom a scrub? Take out the garbage? Make dinner? What did “I’ve got this” mean?

I hoped it meant the above but apparently he meant something different. He was ready to “adult”. However, “adulting” is a staged experience where he gets to pick and choose. He may think he is an “adult” but clearly, I am still the cleaning lady. See paragraph one. This isn’t quite what I was aiming for.

I had been hopeful for domestic contribution not separation papers. Owen meant that he no longer wanted my help. He felt that we “don’t work well together”. He also cited that I “complicate things” and my follow through was not the vision he had. This would be a good time to also insert that while college was fun, it was a painful academic experience and I “made him do it”. All this led to. “Mom, you need to just let me do it myself. I don’t need your help”.

Fired. No retirement party, no watch and not even a letter of recommendation and certainly no pension. I had been unceremoniously “dismissed”.

I always knew the mission was to help them spread their wings and fly but secretly, I didn’t want to let go. I still wanted to hold the string. More like a kite than a bird. And then, Owen cut the string.

To quote the Lion King, this is “the circle of life”. I went through it with our older two kids who are 29 and 26. The difference is that when they let go, I still had Owen. Now, I just have me and who am I if I am not needed as a mom? And please don’t tell me that I am the domestic help. That hasn’t been the most rewarding volunteer experience.

The reality is that my kids are grown. My chapter of being the centre of their world is over. I have been laid off and am redundant. All those wonderful moments of being busy with them is something of the past. Our relationship has changed and I have to get used to the fact that they don’t need me the way they used to. In fact, they have assured me that they don’t need me at all. Well, unless I invite them for dinner. Great. More dishes.

One might think that I would rejoice in having all this new found time. In truth, I am bored to tears. I miss being busy with kids and volunteering. I miss cheering at games and my days being full with their activities. I miss being needed. Now what?

With Owen returning home in April and making his grand statement of independence, I had to ask myself what was my next move. Sure, it’s great that my daughter Megan asks me to watch her puppy but really, it’s not quite what I was looking for to fill my days. I had to start thinking forward and figuring out my next moves.

I took up gardening. I heard people loved it. Planting little seeds and delighting as the little heads popped up promising bountiful crops. So I tried it (again!). I planted all the little seeds and lovingly watered them and watched their little heads pop up. Small glitch. I wasn’t quite sure what was supposed to be the start of my bounty and what was a weed so I just let it all grow and thought I would just figure it out. It turns out that my lovingly planted cilantro seeds died and I spent months nurturing a very pretty selection of weeds. I have decided that I will serve the world better by supporting farmers markets. They take debit cards and no skill required.

Since I crossed off gardening from my list. I had to keep looking. Life was a clean slate and I further decreed that summer 2025 would be the Summer of Yes! I would say “yes” to everything and see what happened.

My husband Wayne and I were invited to join a group on a fishing trip to the West Coast of British Columbia. I said yes. Ok, maybe I don’t like fishing, but in the spirit of adventure, I thought it would be a great holiday for us. We hadn’t had a holiday as just the two of us since before the kids were born. I thought it would be great. And it was. We met the nicest people and got to see a beautiful part of our country. It was an excellent “yes”.

We were asked to go on a hiking / rafting trip and again, I said “yes”. It was a glorious adventure that took us to places that I never imagined that I would see. And while it was amazing, my husband Wayne and I still don’t fully mesh over our versions of wilderness camping. Not going to lie, there were sharp tones and some terse replies and some long stretches of silence but no one accidently died in their sleep.

I don’t know what it is with me and Wayne. Why can’t we get along when the excursion involves a tent and a backpack? I think it has something to do with the fact that he is all geared up and he looks after himself. I don’t recall him doing the grocery shopping or meal planning or the packing but he does look good in those expensive hiking pants. I got grouchy because I was walking through the bush in my Costco shorts. My backpack was driving me crazy because it’s not my backpack. I had to borrow one. And my thermarest that was supposed to blow up to be a nice cushion had a hole in it. I guess after 25 years, things wear out. And not just me….

You see, while I was cooking, cleaning, organizing, planning and nurturing for the future, everyone else was adventuring and had the gear. I missed the memo that there was life outside of being a mom. I get grouchy with Wayne because after all these years, I think I just wanted him to look after me. I wanted him to see if I had the right gear, to check and see what help I needed and to acknowledge that the ten year gap meant that I stayed home with Owen while he was out and about with the older two. Those ten years was a decade that I didn’t develop skills, or build up gear. I stayed home. And yes, that is somewhat melodramatic. Even as I write it, I see it as a little whiny (maybe a lot) but there is a sprinkle of truth. I shouldn’t have gotten grouchy. I just missed the memo to not only care for the family but also to care for me.

So I pressed on and said YES to a bike trip in Quebec. That was a tough one. For years, we have done everything for the kids so it was new for me to spend indulgently on myself but I forced myself to say “yes”. A friend and I traveled to Montreal and then spent a week biking to Quebec City. It was marvelous. We also stayed in hotels.

In September, When I got back from biking, I entered a baking competition, signed up for hockey school and ripped out the damn garden. I didn’t win the baking competition, sucked at hockey school but felt exhilarated with eradicating my garden of weeds. Fresh start.

My children are grown and I am adrift and looking to find new direction and purpose. I feel left behind. I think that this is common. I think others might feel it too. I think each of us have an ache when things come to and end. When a career comes to an end, when friendships run their course, when relationships wither and definitely when loved ones die.

Anna Quindlen described this as the “before and after”. Maybe I have written that before but it continues to resonate deeply. It describes change with pain and loss. The feeling of being left behind through no fault of our own or maybe we made a choice to make change and that process was hard and left us feeling raw. Change is inevitable but bloody hell, no one mentioned having to become a contortionist to survive this journey called life.

The feeling of being left behind has also forced me to peek out the door and stare in the mirror. Who have I left behind? Who did I let go without severance or notice or even a reason? If you are hearing my insides churn, they are. Karma appears to be real. It’s making me think where I need to do better and what amends I need to make. I’m worried that I have likely hurt people and have been oblivious to my callousness. Now I feel really nauseous. Life is somewhat unrelenting as we get hurled against the rocks to perhaps become weathered and smooth. I likely have as many thank you notes as apology letters. Oh good. Something to do other than mop the floors.

Life is not easy. It’s complicated, messy, uncertain and at times unkind and unrelenting. I hate the ache. I despise being untethered from a sense of purpose and to top it off, my favourite jeans don’t fit anymore. Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse. It does.

Winston Churchill said it well. “When you’re going through hell, keep going”. I never understood that quote, until I did. But what I also understand is that it is hell going through change but it gets better if I stick it out.

Yes, I was fired but that doesn’t mean that my children don’t love me. They are just ready to be their own people. It’s just different. The chapter is over but the story goes on. The characters develop and new plot lines begin.

Loss hurts and change is painful. I feel that. If you have had similar feelings, you are not alone. We will lose opportunities, friendships, loved ones and it will hurt in places we didn’t know it could hurt. When we are robbed of something we love, it’s easy to keel over and gasp for air. And while we will be forever changed by the loss, there will be room to grow towards something new. We won’t be the same but we can be something new.

I am going to keep looking for ways to say YES. Yes to new friends, ideas, adventures and new hobbies. I will also keep baking, trying to improve at hockey but I am ok giving up gardening. I am also learning to feel empowered to break patterns. Sometimes, Tuesday night dinner is cheese and crackers. If anyone wants something different, they can cook. I was fired and now, I am free.

Here’s to holding hands when our hearts hurt and to believing in new beginnings.

With love,

Shelley

Being Chicken and Hugging Trees…..

I felt connected and whole. I felt at peace, and I felt the weight of worry disappear. I felt the earth ground me and the tree reminded me of what it was to grow strong in the forest and not bend. I felt who I was and who I was supposed to be and all that I have been protecting is just a sham.

In the next 18 months, I have a big decision to make and it’s scaring me. If I do what I think I want to do, I am going to have to disrupt my life. I have two choices. Remain comfortable or take a chance. If I stay in my comfy chair, I know I will have regrets. If I take a chance, I am risking failure that could come with a very bruised ego and a financial cost. I am feeling “chicken”.

When Wayne was diagnosed with cancer, I made changes. I didn’t know what life was going to look like. He could barely walk down the driveway and he certainly couldn’t walk up stairs. I took measures to ensure we were “safe” because I felt so uncertain (and scared). We bought a new house that was less maintenance, I bought a new car because our old one was approaching a 400,000 km death. If Wayne couldn’t work, I needed the moment in time when the bank saw us as stable and I shored up our assets. I took on a new career and everything about each of those decisions was to ensure that we would be “ok”.

And now Wayne is well. We took care of the weird unspoken societal checklist; shelter, transportation and even savings. All noble but it feels very beige.

Living “safe” was the right decision at the time but now, I am reflecting on my decisions and the price of my choices. Maybe I have compromised. I enjoy what I do, and I really like my new car (who doesn’t love a heating steering wheel?) and I love that after 30 years, we have more than one bathroom. I also love the luxury of being able to buy butter because for many years, we could only afford margarine. The problem is that comfort comes at a cost. I have taken the “safe” path and a piece of me feels like I’m not really living the life that I dreamed.

I have an inner yearning to do something brave. It’s a calling that comes from the heart. Maybe you know what I am talking about. That little dream or wish that lies within that keeps trying to get your attention. It’s like a phone that rings and each time I hear the call, I send it to voicemail or pretend it’s a wrong number.

What if what I think I want to do should just remain as wishful thinking because if I were to execute the yearning, I would blow everything up because I’m not capable of it? What if what I want to do is something I am terrible at? What if I think I am better than I actually am? If I can’t achieve the simple things, do I really have what it takes to do something bigger?

At the moment, I am trying to plant a garden from seeds. I thought I could start a garden from seeds and at the moment, all I have to show for it is dirt that is well watered. I planted the seeds but after weeks of watering, there is no sign of life.

Even tonight, I’m the result of a “what the f@ck moment”. I have taken myself on a bit of a holiday and while I thought I booked a lovely king room with amenities, when I went to check in they didn’t have a booking. It turns out that I booked something entirely different. I’m not saying that a little motel on the side of a highway isn’t cute, but I am going to suggest that the undergarments I found at the bottom of my bed are certainly not mine. If I can’t lose five pounds, grow a flower or book a hotel room, how am I going to execute a dream of the heart?

I’m chicken. This is incredibly ironic given that I own a blog domain called “and then I jumped“. At the present moment, I should call it “and then I wanted to jump”. Ugh.

I am at an age when “playing it safe” is the good play. I don’t want to not be ok in the coming aging years. I don’t want to go back to buying margarine or being financially vulnerable, but I am also afraid of living with regret.

I am afraid of making a decision and even more afraid of making a bad decision. What if I do something that we can’t bounce back from? Chicken.

We have 30 chickens so I feel I can bravely use this word to describe my current state. Chickens don’t have a great deal going on. When I watch them, I often wonder what they are saying or if they are saying anything at all. In my mind, it might go like this:

BEATRICE: “What are you doing today Mavis?”

MAVIS: “Oh, I thought I would just peck at the ground and see what’s there. Maybe lay an egg. How about you?”

BEATRICE: “Same”

And off they go…. every day is the same. Eat, drink, scratch at the dirt and when they feel moved, they might lay an egg and then call it a day. Very few look over the fence and wonder what lies beyond.

There is a history to the term “being chicken”. Folklore says that there was a play written in 1450 that described cowardly action as “henne-harte” and according to the Oxford English Dictionary, it was William Shakespeare who used the fowl as a descriptor when he wrote “Forthwith they fly, Chickens,” in Cymbeline, circa 1616. The term was used to describe soldiers fleeing a battlefield. It won’t come as a surprise to learn that bravery was exemplified by roosters and important men were sometimes referred to as “cocks”. I am guessing that was a compliment at the time.

Being “chicken” has been a timeless characteristic and is currently an adept descriptor of my current state. There is also the physical similarity of being in my fifties and feeling both fluffy and puffy…..I will just leave it at that.

In my little fenced area, I lead a comfortable life, but I yearn for something else and wish I could know that if I pursued it, it would work out.

I want to do something that feels crazy. It is likely not financially rewarding, I may not even be good at it, but it is all I think about every single day. It’s the “thing” that lies outside of the fenced area and it’s scary. It would mean risking rejection, possible humiliation and the very worst thing…. thinking I might be good and maybe it turns out that I am really, really bad. If I don’t take a chance, I might as well go live with the chickens. “Why yes Beatrice and Mavis, I would like to join you pecking at the ground day after day until I end up in the freezer……”

I recently listened to an interview with Melinda French Gates and she talked about turning 60 and reinventing herself. What was interesting is that she talked about returning to her original state. She talked about becoming more like her “old self”; the self she was when she was younger. She feels more free and more fun. I understand that. I used to be different, and I miss that version of myself. I thought the “check list” was a way to grow up when in fact, all I did was grow away from who I loved to be. I think what is calling me is “me”. The “me” before I started to censor myself to achieve the “check list” and live “beige”

It was a slow erosion. Reading an email before I send it to make sure I hit the right “tone”, speaking in language that was neutral. “Collaborate” is a very safe word, it says that I am “part of you”. And how about all the emojis. Since when did sending a “heart” to colleagues become a thing? Yes, I adore working with my colleagues, but all the memes and the hearts seem more performative than authentic and yet, I do it to ensure that my language is in keeping with the culture. Safe. Paying attention to social nuances is hard and I’m not very good at that either. Even my wardrobe is lacking. The other week, my lovely colleagues commented on how nice I looked. To be clear, I was wearing a sweater. That’s how low my bar is. A “sweater” with some fun hearts got some attention. Oh my god. I totally suck.

But back to my big life decision. Do I disrupt comfort and take a chance knowing it’s a 50/50 risk that I can do it but at least I will know and not continue to wonder or wish.

A few weeks I celebrated my birthday. I try and keep my birthday on the down low and rather than a birthday party, I hold an evening that I call “Open Season for Gin”. My gal pals got wise to me and this year, they threw me a party. I had to laugh. They themed it based on my iconic mainstays. They all wore pearls, a scarf and wore readers perched of their heads. It was really fun. So was the evening.

We had a ton of social and the big take-away was the connection that everyone felt. Too often long winters keep us separate and attached to our couches. Within the social setting, we gather to connect and share and the negative images we have of ourselves shatter when friends reflect back the goodness that they see. We are often more than what we see ourselves. Thank god for friends.

This week I learned more about my friend Jane. She described her and her husband as empty nesters and with no one in the nest, they migrated to their couch with Netflix and wine. They had jobs and security, but they were getting saggy and bored. They opened the door to their big outrageous dream. They burned the couch, sold their house and moved to Clearwater where they bought 80 acres and started their farm. By the way, Jane didn’t know how to farm….

That was in 2021 and today, the farm is thriving. They work off the premise of “seed to table” and the organic bounty is unbelievable. In addition to vegetables, Jane picked up on a past passion and training as a florist and grows hundreds of flowers that she now sells. If that isn’t enough, they also raise cattle and sheep.

When she speaks about her life, her eyes light up, she gets emotional and passionate. Sure, she was afraid and wondered who would believe her; imposter syndrome is also very real, but she remembered a skit she saw when she was young. A little girl who was in grade two told her dad that she was going to quit school. The dad asked her what she planning to do and the little girl immediately said “I’m going to teach grade one”.

We don’t have to be experts to start, we just have to start. Ask Jane. She’s amazing and in her fifties…..

Today I went walking with a friend and she announced that her and husband are planning to move to Belize. She wants to start an eco B&B and live off the land. She wants to feel calm and grow food that she can sell at the market and not have to worry about high costs of living. Yesterday she sold her dining room table. Her dream is becoming a reality.

I have other friends that are making big moves. Friends that have decided that they can’t work another day and chose retirement. They wanted to “live” rather than exist. Other friends have left long time relationships because they no longer wanted to feel “numb” and despite the financial implications, they now feel alive.

They have resisted fear to live out loud and I am in awe of their courage. How can I become more like them? I am entrenched in fear. Fear of making bad decisions that don’t allow us to retire and being so broke that my kids will have to support me. Yes, that scares me but what scares me more is that when my eyesight fails, they will take delight in not plucking chin hairs as payback for the many moments when I should have used my inside voice and didn’t.

I’ve spoken of regret. It’s the other side of fear. The regret that I will just peck at the ground and not take the chance to follow the big outrageous dream and that regret will make me bitter.

I started this blog with the intention of doing things that scared me to ensure that I didn’t become complacent. What I didn’t anticipate is that a sense of wanting to “hold” financial security would become my fence. While the ledge is secure, it’s also boring and a little soul crushing.

My friend Nikki suggested that I try hugging a tree and do it in my bare feet. She said that I might be surprised at what I would feel. I took her advice, and I went out to hug trees, and this is what I felt.

If I don’t try, I will just have dirt. What if I plant the seeds and tend to them? What if they grow and they start to grow and suddenly, I will have flowers that begin to bloom? I won’t know until I try.

Maybe you are like me and having a dream that is calling and you, like me, having been ignoring the call? It doesn’t have to be big. What if we start small and see what can grow?

I’m still not certain but I like how I felt when I hugged the tree. I felt peace and an urge to return to what I used to feel and how I used to be and how good it felt to want to take the chance. Maybe I will fail but I won’t know until I try. At least I will know. If I don’t take the chance, I will always be left with wondering what might have happened if I had dared to make the jump.

And there it is. The perpetual question. To stay safe and be left with questions or to jump and find out if we can fly.

I’ll keep you posted. I know it’s scary, but I take inspiration from the many incredible women that are in my life. I want to join them. I want to see if dreams can really come true. Playing chicken is easy but when I hugged the tree, I felt what might be possible. It was incredibly powerful to feel connect to something bigger than what I felt. I hope I have the courage to answer the call and not disconnect. And if chasing dreams means I have to give up a heating steering wheel, well, I know I can always wear gloves.

With love, care and the hope that you feel courageous to follow your dreams,

Shelley

Hugging trees and feeling connected.

2025…TEMU Fails and New Found Inspiration

I started 2025 with the wonder of “now what?”. So much of my landscape had changed and I was needing to figure out what direction was next. Never having been particularly strong at map reading or directions, this question was quite daunting for me. It wasn’t just “now what”, it was “where to?”.

My typical January tends to land me in the world of social media. The algorithms are real. I remember when I signed up for NOOM. Great concept but I found myself lying to the bot when I counted wine as a fruit.

This years algorithm found me wondering about the validity of wall pilates in just twenty minutes a day. I love a deal that sucks me in for the low cost introductory offer with the promise of the miracle. I have learned from past mistakes. This time I vowed to be committed and be honest.

I was a little miffed that at the end of the profile questions, I was deemed a beginner. I guess it’s true. AI does know best because those twenty minutes were HARD and I dare not imagine what intermediate or advanced entailed. Who can honestly get their legs around their head and live to tell about it? Not me. How those small moves can find dormant muscles is one of life’s great mysteries but I persevered. I embraced the thirty day challenge and was excited to show off my new results. OK. Not quite the poster child that they advertised but incremental adjustments. Instead of featuring abs that look like a jelly donut, I am now the proud owner of abs that look like a lumpy mattress. Progress.

Since my new subscription wasn’t providing immediate success, I thought a new wardrobe update might be helpful to the process of “new me”. Next to the algorithm feed of women pulsating on a wall, the other images were of “how to dress for over 50”. This seemed promising and yes, I fell for yet another enticement called TEMU.

My first clue should have been that all the models had long blond hair and were featuring tops that looked super cute with cut off jean shorts. I do not have long blond hair and nor do I look cute in cut off jeans. Hope keeps the agony alive. The promise of svelte new undergarments also seemed like an excellent impulse purchase until they weren’t.

Those fabulous new tops I bought? They aren’t perfect now but they will be when I turn 80 and find myself on a bus tour to Reno with 40 other senior citizens. The svelte undergarments? Likely best used as an emergency parachute should I be on a flight and need one.

If the rest of 2025 is like this, I might as well sign up for the bus tour early and hope for better luck in Reno. I am finding life transitions to be difficult.

When we have children, we expect them to leave but what I didn’t expect to feel was a feeling of loss. Sure, people tell you how it might feel but until it happens, it doesn’t feel real. I thought I knew the mission: “Help launch children into the world without doing jail time”. That last bit was for me.

Our dining room table was always full so was the car as we loaded up equipment, other friends and schlepped all over the map for various sports and activities. Our days had constant movement and a splash of frenzy and I thought I might look forward to the peace of of an empty nest. Not so much. It’s kind of lonely.

The nest is empty as the three kids have also flown but what else is empty is the dining room table, the bedrooms and even the fridge. I can’t remember the last time I had to buy milk. And while never having to wait in line for the loo is still a joy, it’s bittersweet. Something has to change because there is a good chance that if new directions aren’t quickly found, Wayne and I are going to end up eating dinner on TV tables while watching the news and complaining about the weather. God help me, we are inching our way to buying tickets on that damn bus tour to Reno if we aren’t careful.

So what happened? Life scattered. The kids scattered as they went in search of their own hopes and dreams. The people that I sat with every weekend for the past 15 years as we cheered for our kids fell away. What connected us is no more. The chapter came to a close.

Change is bound to happen.

I’m not used to deciding what I want to do. It’s a little uncomfortable putting myself in the centre of the story and choosing my own adventures.

The “scattering” happens in response to the flow of life’s rhythms and I kept trying to hear the music even though the band I had stopped playing. This is symbolic for friendships, careers, projects and more. Relationships all come with their own timeline and I think the secret is to know when there comes a time to find a new beat. If only I knew how to dance.

Here is what is also true. With all the noise of a full house, I didn’t have to dance to my own tune because I was always distracted. The distractions were the perfect excuse for why I wasn’t achieving personal goals. I fell into bad habits and used my chaotic family schedule as my cover. Now that the nest is empty, so are my excuses.

My 2025 needs to be about writing my chapter and achieving things that are important to me. I can buy as many apps as I want but to set new directions is going to require me being the change. Change requires steady commitment and being honest at what I am not willing to do. As much as I would love to believe that I will enjoy green protein shakes each day, I am not going to make them. Telling myself the truth is maybe a good first step.

I did do the 30 challenge of clinging to the wall and was duped by the promise of significant change. I wanted to hit the EASY button and not give up cookies for breakfast. This is indicative of many of my goals, wanting it to be easy and not doing the harder work.

What has been helpful is the mantra of my app “progress not perfection“. This has been golden. Each day, I work a little harder. It’s slow but there is change. Some days are great and other days, well, not so great. Overall, I am moving forward more than I am falling backwards.

I also look around at the people in my life who provide incredible inspiration. Friends who have embraced their next chapters with enthusiasm. My friend Amy who took classes to become a master gardener or my friend Marnie who is looking to do her Masters. My friend Shauna who is going to produce her first film. There are friends that have left relationships to achieve new directions and friends that have left the work force to reset and start fresh or walk the Camino Trail in search of becoming more centered or friends that wrote a book to tell their story. They are doing it, one step at a time and it’s pretty awesome.

I have goals and they seem so easy but I’m not reaching them and it’s because I want to get there without putting in the steps or as Mel Robbins says, “you need to do the reps”. I looked for short cuts. When my life was busy with kids, short cuts were necessary but that’s not my reality anymore. I have the time to do the work and have to change my mindset to actually do the work. No more excuses and I was really good at excuses.

Progress and not perfection is my new mantra for 2025. I am not successful each day but each day I am working to be better than I was yesterday. I wanted perfection but it turns out that perfection didn’t match my reality. I like cookies for breakfast but maybe I could just have one after dinner. Perfection was going “all in” at a pace that I wasn’t ready for. I am regrouping. It requires honesty and a slower pace. I need to modify behaviors to get to the point of significant change and this seems more manageable. Even my goals for the year are bite size. I have grown weary of bearing the medal of “failure” because I was to impatient to put in the time. Progress is something I can manage and build on. Bit by bit, the fly wheel begins to turn.

My 2025 is about change and adaptation. What do I really want and what will that take? My nest is empty which means I have space to fill and I want to be more deliberate with my choices and perhaps kinder to my failings. Change is not easy and for me, it is taking time.

I do like my wall pilates. I like working muscles I have ignored for decades. I like the pace and I like finding the workouts to be more mindful than punishing. I like reading more and I like the blank slate. What do I want to fill my time with? It’s not as easy as I thought but its getting better. Change is a long conversation and I have years of patterns than need to be redirected. My reality is not the same and my mission has changed. I have an empty nest and I can fill it with people I choose, goals that are important me to and with experiences that I never got the chance to pursue. It’s awkward as heck. It feels selfish but when I think about those that inspire me, maybe it’s not. Maybe doing things we love to do is just a way to express gratitude for life. I look at how much I learn from those that are expanding their interests and seeing their fulfillment.

I would be remiss if I didn’t include a small plug for one other catalyst in my life. I have been the Queen of Control and spent a great deal of time exerting control and dare I say, offering unwanted opinion and influence. As part of my 2025 quest for new directions, I love Mel Robbins book “Let Them“. You have probably seen it on multiple social streams and I can attest, it is everything it says it is and more. “Let Them” is a game changer for me. I can “let them” and in turn, I can “let me“. I don’t have to be attached to opinions, drama and any judgement and because of that, the world seems to flow without stress for me. Just saying “let them” releases so much pressure and gives way to new found freedom.

So, maybe TEMU was a fail but “progress not perfection” has been the wind to my sails. I find it easier to enjoy people and experiences for what they are and that includes me. Change is slow and incremental but that leisurely pace has invoked more gratitude and appreciation. I like having space to be more thoughtful about the next destination and thinking about new hobbies and interests. The fierce pace that was required isn’t needed anymore and while having empty space is uncomfortable, it’s just part of transition and finding more joy.

Here’s to 2025 and new paths that give way to inspiration of “where to”. It’s never too late to follow our dreams. Progress, not perfection with a dash of kindness to ourselves. We’ll get there. I know we will.

With love,

Shelley

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