My husband and I have been together for over 20 years. We met in high school and watched each other graduate high school, college, and graduate school, find (and change) careers, and become parents.
We watched each other become adults and now we are watching each other age. I meet my friend Geraldine at a hip, local eatery in the heart of Abbot Kinney in Venice Beach.
I was 55-years-old, and yet my Christian upbringing still had a stranglehold on my sexuality.
Recent conversations with Millennials and 30-somethings have made me feel even better about my age and lucky to have spent my Millennial dating years pre-internet, well before the current awfulness of online 'hooking-up'.
Yom Kippur, the Jewish holiday of repentance, had barely been over for 14 hours and I was already fighting with my husband. Over our poached kale and egg salads with a side of chickpeas I notice my firecracker friend is uncharacteristically glum.
Has my Teflon-coated mind not retained a single shred of serenity? When Peter died, the only thing that kept me sane was writing about grief. I recognized that by spewing out my emotions with honesty, I was helping others which meant it was work that made me satisfied.
'Do you think God is punishing me for having sex with a man 20 years younger than me?' This was the question I asked a close friend when I was about to file for bankruptcy back in 2011.