For some reason this post wants to call itself, Be Careful What You Wish For. I don’t know why, since I’m talking about happy things and good times. Success, baby, success.
A long, long, long time ago, I decided to be a magazine journalist. Just like that–pouf! Without any training or background or much more than a love of magazines behind me. My mother had brought me up that way, to believe that if I wanted something, I just had to work hard and I would get it. And my father’s mantra to me was: “You can do anything; you can be a doctor.” Of course now, with the wisdom of age, I know that neither of these was true, but at the time–and for a long time–I believed it and acted accordingly. I gave myself a deadline then: in five years one of the womens magazines would be asking me to write for them. It happened in two.
Last year when I started MidLifeBloggers, a small lust lodged in my brain. More magazine would come calling. They’d see the perfect symmetry between us and offer me untold wealth to sell them the site. I believe this fantasy included a home in the South of France–and the body to go with it.
Funny thing: More did come calling. Not with the South of France offer, but with a request that I post original pieces for them on their new website. Close enough, I figured, close enough.
Today the site goes live in Beta. And here’s the link to my piece. It’s a rant about who gets to give midlifers advice. Go look. Cheer me on! Wish me well–and who knows, Cannes might not be so far away after all.
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