seeds of joy in midlife
reflections on midlife, connection, and a summer solstice invitation
Last Thursday evening, I gathered with my women’s writing group, our weekly ritual of presence and pages. As I read aloud Locust by Julia Alvarez, the poem lingered with me, her voice not beneath the tree, but in a second-story office looking out over branches so entwined around the window that it felt like a treehouse. A quiet refuge watching life unfold.
Her happiness was slow, surprising, rooted deep.
Mine doesn’t arrive in grand revelations either. It sneaks in through small moments like this, surrounded by women writing on a Thursday evening. A ritual I will miss this summer as I rest, create, collaborate with others, and connect with the outdoors. I will return in the fall, but for now, I am suspended in this breath of pause before the next chapter.
If I’m honest, this is not the midlife I imagined. Last year, I separated from my husband. Just months earlier, I learned without warning that my boss of 18 years had sold his company.
Two men who anchored my life vanished nearly at once.
My boss was more than a boss, almost like family. He stood beside me at my wedding and at my father’s celebration of life. He was there in moments that mattered. Then, without explanation, he stepped away. No conversation, no closure, just silence that still stings.
These years of loss have shaken my ground. Still, I reach for grace, for stability, for joy in the spaces in-between.
I long for meaning and purpose, but sometimes that longing brings confusion and the trap of comparison.
Even as I read Locust, I caught myself comparing her quiet joy, her treehouse moment, to my own unfolding story. Then I stopped. I reminded myself to witness the quiet beauty of my own life as it is.
This past Memorial Day, I glimpsed that beauty unexpectedly. I showed up to a barbecue knowing only the host, a friend I’m nurturing a connection with. No cocktail shielded me, just raw, vulnerable curiosity.
And something shifted.
In the warmth of new faces, I found ease. I listened deeply, and one woman, a stranger, found safety in our conversation, shedding tears as she shared her story. That unplanned intimacy, that human connection, that was joy.
For much of my life, I wore the mask of an extrovert, a sociable disguise. But sobriety, separation, and the sacred disorientation of midlife have taught me to honor the quieter parts of myself.
While I value solitude, I also long for company and community. The true practice has been learning to discern when my body and soul need rest, and when it’s time to step back into the world. Years of tuning in and listening to my nervous system have guided me toward what I truly need.
I have also learned to tell the difference between the need to rest and the need to stretch beyond comfort. That day, I could have stayed home, but I wanted to show up for my friend and our friendship. Because I showed up, a seed of connection took root, growing in the fertile soil of shared presence.
This year has been one of deep loss. I have grieved the end of my marriage and the closing of the company where I spent nearly two decades.
Meaningful work has become a lifeline for me, a way to stay grounded and connected. I’m inspired to dream and grow my business as a life and grief coach, yoga and writing teacher, and writer. I long for this work to become full-time, a truer reflection of my passion.
But something else is being born, trust. A slow, quiet trust in my own unfolding.
Grief visits often, but I no longer run from it. I let it move through me. Because alongside grief, I have found joy: Thursdays with women, conversations with strangers, laughter, and new beginnings.
Like the poet in her upstairs perch, I am learning to sit above the noise, to look out on the branches growing around me. To witness my life like a treehouse, safe, alive, and unfolding.
Happiness is still finding its way in.
P.S. In my essay, I reflect on how showing up, especially when it feels uncomfortable, can lead to unexpected joy and deep connection. If you’re feeling called to stretch beyond your comfort zone, nourish your spirit, and find new moments of presence and community, I warmly invite you to join the Summer Solstice Women’s Retreat on Sunday, June 22nd in Walnut Creek.
This gathering is designed to help you embrace that edge, open to renewal through yoga, writing, and heartfelt connection under the open sky.
Spots are limited to keep the circle intimate, so don’t miss this chance to create space for growth and joy.
Reserve your spot today and step into the light with us.
