I will be 51 in a few days. It feels bittersweet. I feel lucky to have lived as long as I have considering depression and relationships with narcissists. I swore I wouldn't make it past 42, yet here I am writing. I am not sure what I am feeling. I am not certain if there is anything to blame or fix. Maybe that is just how it is in life. I am eating in a way that is optimal for me—being a 5'2" highly sensitive empath.

I do not have any crazy awesome paper credentials to show to have a career that most strive for. I have always sort of drifted and educated myself in life. My husband jokes that I should be awarded a doctorate in nutrition because I eat, sleep, and breathe the subject. However, I am still not fixed. What does that even mean, really? As I type that, it sounds broken. Are we ever fixed? Are we always imperfect? What is perfection and what is imperfection? Can we simply not just BE?

One of my favorite books that I should go listen to again is The Power of Now by Echart Tolle.