Okay, I kind of feel that this is ridiculous… a 64 yo woman in a panic. I mean, what on earth is there to panic about? I am selling almost all my worldly possessions; including my beloved house. And then on May 15th; I will be homeless living out of one very large pale-blue suitcase. Yet, that is when the Grand Adventure is suppose to begin, traveling overseas and housesitting… even though there is no schedule or no concrete plan and despite the fact that will not know a soul. I find that I am flogging myself on a daily basis for taking Russian in high school instead of something practical like Spanish. And I am getting anxious just contemplating how to even pack for such a life-changing event. For instance, how many pieces of underwear does one need in this situation and why is footwear so heavy? These are the things I am preoccupied with lately, so tell me, what could go wrong?

Apparently everything, according to my mind which has begun hissing at me and inflicting immense doubts which are creating a whiteout in my brain as big as the blizzard to ’42. It fact, the numerous death scenarios which are making regular visits inside my head include:

1. Getting run over by a donkey (and what is the significance of getting run over by an ass anyway?)
2. Riding in the back of chicken truck that swerves off the road and plunges down a ravine
3. Being swindled out of everything by a man with a hypnotic accent and delightful hands
4. Not remembering how to scream out the words for “HELP!” or “POLICE!” and instead saying something on the order of “Your goat smells like old cheese!”

Meanwhile, I am watching cartoons in Spanish and joining language immersion apps hoping that I will learn Spanish in record time. Yet, more often than I like to admit, I forget whether I have already taken my pills and call my kids “Hey, You!” so I don’t get their names wrong. Frankly, I am beginning to believe that old adage “You can’t teach an old dog new tricks” might prove to be my unwanted and unintended self proclaimed motto.

But then, somewhere in the middle of this chaos, it hits me that I am starting to live my life authentically. That I am trying to new ways of thinking, finding new dreams to reach for, and that I, alone, am responsible for crafting a life that I can be proud of. And this I know: I don’t want regrets. Too many people wait for “the perfect time” and forget to wind the clock casting a stillness that settles over a life like a moth-worn blanket that is full of holes. I don’t want that kind of life. I want to take chances. I want to live and love with a freedom that I have yet to experience in all my 64 years. I am demanding of myself a life that is real, deep, and meaningful. A life that my kids can tell their kids about and whisper my stories to them so they can be inspired to be courageous and brave.

My garage sale is this Saturday. My lamp, the one I bought when I was 22 and broke, will be in the fray. I hope someone who needs to illuminate some corner of their life buys it and finds what they are looking for. The books I have read … I hope that the words provide comfort and curiosity to the reader in order to stir their imagination. And my old Yamaha guitar that I have had since I was 13 and on which I taught myself to write songs.at age 59 .. may it find its way into the hands who can make it soar. But most of all, if you come by please don’t nickel and dime me to death for each item. For everything I am disposing of has a story and great meaning to me and in some small way has made me the woman I am today. A woman who is afraid to step out but is still going to do it anyway. No more playing it safe for me.