One of the best parts of aging is perspective. I was thinking yesterday about how sometimes--many times--doing the right thing is difficult and painful. This is even true when trying to do the right thing for yourself. Like letting go. This week, though, has been a bit of a struggle for me. A younger version of me would have caved to the sinking feelings and succumbed to the internal message that something was wrong with me for not being able to see something--a relationship, a project, an idea--through to the bitter end. Instead, I am well aware of the feelings raging within and willing to let them roar up from time to time in a wave of anxiety over my body, tears in the corners of my eyes, or a far off look into the unseen world. I'm still unsure of what the future holds at the moment. I'm not quite completely decided about what action to take next...or not at all. I am willing to let the thoughts run through my head with the knowledge that they will eventually find a home in

I really didn't think it was possible to top last year's birthday which I spent watching my new hot water heater being installed in great anticipation of a hot shower. But I think it happened. The day was filled with lots of text messages, phone calls, Facebook posts in multiple languages, songs from my students, and a vocabulary skit designed around my special day. That in itself made for a beautiful day. I've told most of my friends that I always suspected 34 would be my year. I can't explain it; it's just a feeling I've had for a long time. I think it might be true.

The laughter is silenced and the clothes hung out on the drying rack for all the neighbors to see from the porch have been packed away. And I cried for you. The dishes lined along the sink have been washed and dried and put back into their dark home in the cupboard where they wait for their single use. And I cried for you. The nights are quiet and the Dominoes and cards are no longer spread out on the dining room table ready for a late night game. And I cried for you. The kisses are resting firmly on the cheeks of loved ones who are closing their eyes tonight on another continent after catching up on the last seven years. And I cried for you.

I've been chatting with my brother this morning. He has a new girlfriend now, and this seems to be a bright spot for him since his divorce. This sort of conversation is the perfect breeding ground for a reflection on the past, and we've already covered the ideas of life paths and consequences. This perfectly coincided with a conversation I had with Nadia yesterday in which she reminded me that we recently made a pact to leave our baggage behind as we move ahead. (I have to admit, though, that I've been keeping mine on rollers.) My personal struggle is rooted in the fact that in any relationship I've had, I've either been cheated on or been the back-pocket girl (the one left behind when something better comes along). It's a place in my heart buried in scar tissue, and no matter how much I trust a man, in the back of my mind is the lingering wonder of when he's going to find something better than me. The sad reality is that we have all been deeply affected by

I have a taped interview my neighbor did with me when I was thirteen. In it she asks about my hobbies, and I respond with a scripted sounding list of activities that included writing music and playing with my brother and sister. She then asks me, "What about talking on the phone." Apparently, I've been a talker for a long time. I went to South American Soccer Night this week and caught up with my favorite Brazilian after the game. He told me how much his sister liked me, and I laughed as I pointed out that I held my own in Portuguese as we talked about my family and living in Orlando and about our jobs as teachers. "I know," he said. "She told me that you two would have talked all night if my mom had not interrupted." I laughed, remembering her poking her head out the door and telling us that we needed to stop talking and go to sleep because I had to go to work in the morning. Like any obedient children, we followed her orders. Yeah...we would have tal