My life is a story in progress. That may be an obvious commentary to some but it’s a revelation to me because I used to think I had it all figured out. First I’d do my level best to leave home for college and get the mandatory degree so I could secure what I really wanted, a job to begin building my career. Then I’d land a series of dream jobs, all of them contributing to the bank account that would make me financially independent. And because I’d be in love with working, I’d continue that lifestyle until I dropped dead one day. Done. Finished. The story of my life: she strived, she worked, she achieved, she contributed, she died. I never considered that some day I’d be in my fifties looking for different kinds of experiences besides going to work everyday. That I’d be asking the question, “who am I without a fancy job?” Well – hello. I’m here.
I’ve been living my life backwards from most women I know: not really interested in marriage, children, friends, or a personal life separate from a professional one. My jobs were so stimulating; a life in broadcasting (and later cable) meant working 10 – 12 hour days (at least) and most weekends and holidays. Creating shows from thin air required a lot of creative energy and the commensurate time to pull them off – day after day, project after project, city after city, year after year. I traveled around the country, met hundreds of fascinating people, handfuls of celebrities and worked on projects that contributed to a lifetime of memories. No question, I fell madly in love with an industry that fed my soul and beefed up my wallet. I am a very fortunate woman and a highly satisfied professional achiever. By all my definitions, I made it. I accomplished my agenda. And, though not in the plans, I got married and have kids, only ours are furry, four-legged ones who fill my heart every bit as much as human children, with much less expense and potential problems.
One day, much to my surprise (and pretty much everyone who knows the professional me) I decided to stop working. There are a number of reasons why – things like fatigue, frustration and disappointment top the list. But there was also something more. Churning down in my gut somewhere was the understanding that there’s more to experience in this magnificent, finite life I have. Different paths to explore and different methods of exploration. Maybe that’s what our 50’s are about. Maybe it’s a “female professional thing,” maybe it’s a mid-life thing. But it’s a real thing – to be sure. At least, for me. My new life is a journey without a road map; it unfolds each day. Sometimes it offers adventure and insights; other days it’s deliciously mundane. But right now it’s where I want to be. I’m enjoying friends, family, travel, a real personal life, books unrelated to my jobs and a continuing learning experience. Most women did that early on – I saved it for Act three. My Actthree.net blog is dedicated to musings from that journey. Mine and, hopefully, yours.
Are you living a life of journey right now? Tell me about it. I’m particularly interested in hearing from fellow boomer women. But, if you’re not yet among us, but have also decided to carve out the non-traditional life – join the fun. Let’s all enjoy the journey together. Please email your stories to me at joyceactthree@gmail.com. I’ll assume I can share them on Actthree.net, and, maybe, compiled into a book farther along my journey.
actthreedotnet 
The View From My Bike
Posted in activity, bike riding, exercise, recreation, retirement, Uncategorized, tagged baby boomer, baby boomers, blogging, boomer women, boomers, commentary, Cycling, exercise, freshly pressed, life, new life experiences, observation, over 50, personal growth, recreation, self improvement, women over 50 on September 17, 2011| 3 Comments »
Image by Casey David via Flick
“just relax. take it all in. and live life until you burst at the seams.” Casey Taylor
Life’s perspective changes on a bicycle, especially after age 50 as I rediscover the joys of pedaling. It used to be my transportation as a kid, a way to see girlfriends who lived near by, or to the dreaded piano lessons (after a quick stop at the grocery to snatch the Tastykake 3 pack of chocolate cupcakes. They were my favorite and eased the pain of an hour of scales at Mrs. Heston’s house). I also rode my bike to the community pool down the street to see if the cute boy I adored was there that day.
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But all that seemed to stop when I got my license because then I could drive to all those places (except the pool, now the cute boy I adored worked at the gas station a couple miles away).
There are wildflowers growing, creatures scurrying and children playing, each to their individual rhythms.
I started riding a bike, regularly, a little more than a year ago when I borrowed my sister-in-law’s up in Boston last summer. It’s the perfect town; all thruways accommodate cyclists. There are bike lanes on all the roads and a pathway that stretches along the Charles River on both the Boston and Cambridge sides. Because the area is flat just about everywhere, it’s a rider’s paradise. Taking my bike out was as easy as going out the back door and down the Mass Ave bridge ramp onto the esplanade. I was hooked.
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In Tennessee I hook the bike to the back of my car and then take off to a number of greenways nearby. And those I discovered because I had to find places to ride, away from the roads and steep hills in my neighborhood. It offers a wonderful form of exercise and opportunities to be with friends. Knoxville looks like a completely different city from the seat of a bicycle.
But the best part of all?
All of it. Riding my bike makes me happy. Seeing people and creatures live life reminds me what living is all about. That we all have a finite number of years in this human form, and one shot at it. I don’t want to “wish I had.” I want to do.
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