I am a worrier. Always have been. When I was at 4H camp for two weeks every summer and I didn’t get a letter from my parents, I was certain they had moved and were never coming back for me. I worried if my parents argued that they were getting a divorce. I worried my best friend would decide to be best friends with someone else. I worried about fitting in. About asking for what I wanted. About being too happy because that’s when the boogeymen come out. As I get older the things I worry about have changed, certainly. And the shape of worry is different. Worry is for babies. Fear is for grownups. Every ache and pain is magnified, every palpitation is heart disease. But for me there is a far greater fear. And it is real. The fear of doing nothing. Not losing the weight I swore to lose a thousand times, even though a cardiologist recommended it. Not exercising enough even though, well, you know. Not working on my jewelry even though I used to love it and I have at least one commission and interest in others. This is not a new fear, certainly. It seems I’ve been sticking my head in the sand for as long as I can remember. Giving, as a professor and dear friend told me in college, a great 75%. This morning, my husband asked me to bring him something to the gym. I could have thrown on my gym clothes and worked out a little, but nope. I’m sitting in Starbucks talking to you guys. I know there’s something I need to figure out, but I can’t remember the last time I spoke with my therapist. I’d like to promise you that this is it. I’m going to get my s%#* together and do what needs to be done to make this next chapter of my life the best ever, but I have this, whadayacallit? Oh right fear! I have this fear that I never will. And of course, my inner child worries that all of you are tired of hearing the same things over and over again and are gonna take your toys and find a new best friend. So I’ll take it day by day. Today, I’m going to work a little. That’s all I’m promising for now. Tomorrow? I can’t even promise my head will still be attached. Losing My Mind

www.carynjune.com

Getting older is different for everyone. You can look at two 60 year old women and in one, you see a vibrant, healthy woman, nicely dressed, happy and looking younger than her years. In the other, someone who maybe hasn’t fared so well. Health problems, emotional issues, poverty. Sometimes just the genetic lottery. And this 60 year old looks 80. And sometimes your assumptions about these two individuals is 100% wrong. That beautiful mature woman has lost her husband. She has cancer. She is smiling because she knows there’s a half full bottle of vodka at home. And that older looking woman having a little trouble getting around? Her sweet husband is carrying her purse. And she looks exhausted because she’s been helping her daughter with their first grand baby. And those wrinkles. They’re from laughing. It is so easy to make assumptions on who has the better life. And more importantly what makes a life better. More money, more toys, smoother skin, flatter tummies. I am definitely of the herd. I’ve been losing the same 20 pounds for as long as I can remember. I just bought an Apple Watch. Please. Don’t ask. And when the next iPhone comes out, Imma get it. But I am also more aware of the good that isn’t bought. I’m never gonna be skinny. Or rich. But my sweet husband is carrying my bags. And I can’t buy a car this year because, I’m going to Mexico to see my step grandchildren. And those wrinkles? They’re from laughing. Monster Under the Bed

www.carynjune.com