First post, April 19, 2017

So I thought I would write a blog. ‘How many blogs have begun like that?’, I wonder?

I am writing this blog because I don’t recognize myself any more. All that used to fall into place so easily in the past – and truth be told, now that i think about it, I don’t think it was ever all that easy – but that being said, nothing seems to work any more. I can’t find a hairstyle that works, my make up sits on my face differently, I can’t find a job, I can’t eat what I want even if it IS good for me, I don’t want to exercise.

I don’t know what I want to be now that I’ve grown up. In short, I feel like I’ve lost myself.

Probably the most obvious (and perhaps alarming)  is that none of my clothes fit. In fact the clothes I bought after I discovered none of my clothes fit, don’t fit. This has got to stop. I envisioned an approach to halt this. I tried to adopt this approach. I failed. Several times.

There is some bedrock to which I keep returning. I deeply desire to recognize  and honor this obvious transition in my life by developing a ‘way of life’ that is sustaining and enjoyable and not just a downward trudge filled with self-loathing or self-denial.

I recently saw the movie (again), Julie & Julia. A young woman looks for meaning to her unsuccessful life as a writer post 9/11. She decides to let Julia Child guide her by cooking a least one recipe a day from “Mastering The Art Of French Cooking” for the next 365 days and blogging about it. Of course this (not so) simple blog and task launches her successful career as a writer. Hence the starring of Meryl Streep in a movie based on her book she wrote based on the blog.

I have thought I would write. Could write. But haven’t.

I don’t think of myself as a quitter. My 30 year career as an actor would support that position. (Talk about ‘pick yourself up, dust yourself off…”. Good Lord!) I think it may be more about getting started. Distractions.

But a big part of this blog thing is about accountability. Thirteen years as a fitness instructor  and personal trainer for places like Caltech taught me that very often the secret to success in any plan of attack is a partner in crime. My husband recently commented that having that racquetball partner waiting for you at the club is great incentive to get up and go. Giving up on one’s self is easy. Giving up on a friend, not so much.

The other part of this is, they say (The VanPatten’s), we are through, we women of our fifties. The spread, the ‘chicken wings’, the weight is harder to lose, fewer acting roles, hair on the face, menopause, osteoporosis, men get MORE attractive as they age. Well, I’m not through. At least I hope not. I may not have a chef or a trainer or a stylist or an airbrush-er or a  focus puller. That’s OK. I am not through. “I will not go down under the ground.”

I am not entirely sure of the parameters of this blog – what I want to accomplish. The Rules. What To Expect. I kinda learned a while back – and one of the great things about getting older – it’s usually what you least expect. You gotta keep your eyes open. And ears.

I want my clothes to fit. I want to find myself. I want to discover what the next part of my life is supposed to be about.

So, Blog, you are my racquetball partner. Let’s roll the dice. Make it up as we go along. And see what happens.


One comment

  1. Kelly, This is clever, insightful, vulnerably brilliant. I laughed out loud several times– and I mean Beckett’s laugh of recognition. Keep on keepin’ on Sister Comrade.
    Yours in the struggle,


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