45 Looks Different Than I Expected

​To say the first 45 years of my life humbled me would be the understatement of the century. Teenage me? Wild. Slightly feral. Fully convinced I had life figured out while actively doing everything the hard way. You know… like most teenagers. 

My twenties and thirties were basically one long episode of “Who am I and why am I like this?”. Sprinkled with healing childhood wounds, chasing goals, raising babies, building a career, and trying to keep the wheels on the bus. I was moving fast. Busy. Productive. Exhausted… and somehow still missing the point.

I never slowed down long enough to truly value what mattered most. Not really. Not deeply. Not intentionally. It took me forty-four years to realize that four simple priorities change everything…

Friends. Family. Jesus. Yourself.

In that order? Maybe. In a different order? Some days. But all of them? Always.

Here I am at 45. Life feels calmer. Not perfect. Not problem-free. Steady. Joyful. Full of love. A kind of peace that younger me didn’t even know existed. Would I go back and change things if I could? Oh absolutely. I could have saved myself a whole lot of heartache and some truly questionable decisions. The truth is, every wrong turn led to a lesson. Every hard season shaped the life I’m living now. I wouldn’t trade this version of life for anything.

The other day, I was talking to my son. Just a normal conversation. Nothing dramatic. We said our goodbyes, the usual “love you,” and hung up. That is when it hit me. I can’t rewrite my past, but I helped write a better one for my kids. That realization stopped me in my tracks. Every lesson I learned the hard way. Every mistake I wish I could redo. Every moment I didn’t fully appreciate…

I spent my kids’ entire lives trying to teach them those things.

To value people.
To ask questions.
To be kind.
To think deeply.
To love loudly.

And they did.

Are they perfect? Absolutely not. They’ve had their own “well that was a bad decision” moments. They see the world with perspective, empathy, and awareness that I definitely did not have at their age. That’s the win. That’s the full circle moment.

If there’s one thing my parents gave me, it was a deep love for family. The kind that shows up. The kind that tells you the truth. The kind that cheers the loudest and still calls you out when needed. That’s the kind of family we built for our kids. We love hard. We show up. We say the uncomfortable things. We laugh a lot. We forgive quickly. We always come back to the table, because family is the constant. The anchor. The home base when life gets messy.

During the conversation I had the other day with my son, he said something that stuck with me. He told me “Mom the world today is so different from when you grew up”. He’s right. My kids didn’t grow up in the carefree world I knew. They don’t know life without phones, social media, or the internet documenting every moment. They never experienced playing outside until the streetlights came on while your parents had no idea where you were, and somehow everyone survived. No group chats. No Snapchat streaks. No digital receipts of your teenage awkwardness. Honestly..What a gift that was. Every generation has its version of hard. Every generation needs the same foundational things to stay grounded.

Kindness. Respect. Human decency.

Teach it. Model it. Practice it daily. Slow down enough to notice people. Say hello.Say thank you. Wish someone a good day. Acknowledge the cashier, the coworker, the stranger walking by. Those tiny interactions. They matter more than we realize.

Life moves fast. Faster than we think. Somewhere between chasing goals, raising families, and building careers… it’s easy to forget the simple things that actually make life meaningful.

At 45, I finally understand what matters.

And honestly, It’s simpler than I ever imagined. 

The Friends Who Know Too Much

​Spending time with your childhood friends is good for your soul. Like, deep-clean-the-attic-of-your-heart good. I had the absolute joy of spending a week in one giant house with some of my best friends I’ve known since I was tiny and probably wearing questionable outfits and making questionable decisions.

We keep in touch. We see each other when we can. But real, intentional, “no one has to rush home to kids or dogs” time? Rare. So we did the adult thing..took time off work, packed bags, and committed to seven straight days of laughter, memories, and wildly unnecessary shenanigans. And wow… we really showed up for the assignment.

We cooked every meal. We played all the games. We relived old stories (some improved with age, some definitely not). We laughed until our stomachs hurt and our faces felt permanently stuck in smile mode. Somewhere along the way, our little circle expanded to include husbands, wives, and significant others who somehow fit perfectly into a friendship that started over 40 years ago.

Forty years. That’s not casual. That’s not luck. That’s commitment with a side of chaos.

This group has spent a lifetime supporting each other through the loud seasons and the quiet ones. We’ve been each other’s safe place. We tell the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. We show up when life gets messy. We protect each other like it’s part of the job description. Having this kind of friendship with one person is rare. Having it with a group? That’s lightning-in-a-bottle rare.

Kindergarten. Elementary school. Middle school. High school. College. Twenties. Thirties. Now here we are, knocking on the door of fifty and still showing up for each other. That deserves celebration. 

One night I looked around the table and realized I was sitting with four people who know everything about me. The secrets. The dumb mistakes. The quirks. The things that set me off and the exact words needed to talk me off the ledge. It hit me hard in the best way, because I know all those things about them too.

We are wildly different humans tied together by a bond that clearly has a very high tolerance level. Honestly, I can’t imagine life without them. And when you feel that way about people, you know it’s real. You know you’ll do whatever it takes to keep them.

There were quiet moments during the week where I felt a little sadness. That realization that I haven’t always shown up the way I should have. Times I didn’t call. Times I let life get busy and checked in less than I should. Times I was, frankly, a crappy friend.

And then gratitude showed up right behind that feeling. Because none of them hold those things against me. They’ve had their moments too. That’s the secret sauce. We show up when it matters, even when we don’t realize we’re doing it. We carry strength for each other when someone is running low. We love hard. Always have.

I love these people hard. I tell them. I show them. I don’t sit in guilt over the moments I fell short. I just make sure the time I have left is spent proving how much they mean to me.

Lessons Learned From One Week in a Giant House Together

1. We are wildly inappropriate as a group. Like… impressively so.
2. Collectively, we could survive a shipwreck. No question.
3. We are all aggressively early risers now. This is who we are.
4. None of us can party like we used to, and honestly, we’re fine with that.
5. Annual group trips are no longer optional. They are mandatory for survival.

If you’re lucky enough to have friendships like this, protect them. Feed them. Show up for them. And for the love of all things holy…book the trip.