Month: April 2026

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Originally posted at: Drew Sidora’s Tan Off The Shoulder Fur Confessional Dress

I am someone who loves quotes. Saving them has changed over the years along with changes in my life and technology. I used to cut them out of magazines and paste them in a scrapbook, then I printed them out and added them to journals. When I started teaching, I would start each class with a PowerPoint slide highlighting “The Quote of the Day”, and now I screenshot them and add them to a photo collection on my phone!  

In the past few years, I have created a book of my favorite quotes written in my very best handwriting, which, I admit, is not as pretty as it used to be, to comfort myself through life and the aging process.

The Firsts and the Lasts

Many quotes are in my head, seared into my memory, and some of them seem new each time I read them (which is somewhat concerning, but I choose to overlook it). One particularly meaningful quote was cut out from a magazine when my children were young and the days seemed to all look the same; it was by Sarah Jessica Parker who said “The firsts go away – first love, first baby, first kiss. You have to create new ones.” This seemed very important to me at the time, and now it is, maybe, more so.

As we enter our 60s and 70s, many of us have had MANY firsts and MANY lasts, some joyful and some painful. Knowing that aging brings its share of last experiences, I decided to spend my time and energy on creating more firsts for myself. I see firsts as providing me something to grow from, learn from, and look forward to. I started the One New Thing project in 2024.

Now, in my third year of challenging myself to do one new thing each week which I document with a picture and description in the Notes section of my phone, I have discovered more about myself by looking back at what I chose to do new each week. Here’s what I learned:

Not Every New Thing Is Planned

Some New Things are planned, sometimes they just unfold: our first grandson’s arrival a month early, discovering a bird nest adorned with curling ribbon, finding the perfect green pillow on clearance at HomeGoods, a woman who brought her pet monkey into the bank and let me play with him.

Not Every New Thing Is a Big Thing

It is often the little things I plan and proudly execute that bring me joy: planting red geraniums at my front door, using my stand mixer to make pasta dough, meeting my son for a pickleball lesson, and rereading a favorite book from my childhood.

Some New Things Require Effort

There are obvious new things that require long-term planning and a bit more time and effort: taking a week-long camping trip to the Utah National Parks which are in my backyard but I had never been to, breaking down a 20-mile hike into manageable day hikes, taking a beach vacation with our son and his family and in-laws, timing the sign-up for a popular class I wanted to take.

Some New Things Require Being Brave

Sometimes my new thing requires taking a deep breath and being brave: selling jewelry I’ve made, teaching a new class for our city’s parks and rec department, supporting my husband in a surgical procedure (“Spending the Night in the Hospital” with my husband was a New Thing for me), and writing this article for Sixty and Me.

What has the New Thing Project Taught Me?

So, what have I gained in the New Thing Project, and do I plan to keep it up? As I look back on my list, I am filled with awe at the gifts that life has provided me and have gained so much understanding of myself that I am committed to keeping it for at least five years.

I have found that if I am open to the New Thing. I am more focused with my time and energy. I appreciate the little things like my red geraniums. I am much more aware of my experiences like noticing the pieces of curling ribbon on the little bird’s nest which could so easily have been overlooked or forgotten.

The opportunity to turn challenges into learning experiences was demonstrated when the anesthesiologist who photographed my husband and me before his surgery commented on what good medicine our attitude provided. And finally, I have used what made it to the list as data for the future, helping me navigate what is important to me moving forward.

Let’s Chat:

What new things would you try and how long do you think you could keep such a challenge? Perhaps start with a month, a mini New Thing Project, and see where that leads you. I’d love to hear back.

I still remember the day when our daughter and son-in-law announced that they were having a baby. My husband Rick and I were going to be grandparents! The pregnancy and birth happened in the blink of an eye. We were blessed with a beautiful, bouncing, 8 lb.10 oz. baby boy named Jacob. He was radiant. . . a gift from God.

The Decision

Our girl finished her post-secondary education and landed a great full-time job upon graduation. I’d just retired after having worked for 25 years, and was looking forward to some uninterrupted quilting time. But, in the words of the Scottish poet, Robbie Burns:

“The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

With our daughter’s full support and endorsement, I made the decision to be our grandson’s daytime caregiver. My close friends thought I was crazy! But I felt strongly it was the right decision for us. So. . . in a spare upstairs bedroom, we set up a crib, a little dresser, stocked a change table with supplies and retrieved an old rocking chair from the basement. It was a cute and cozy room. It would do nicely.

Meeting the Neighbours

Jacob and I began walkabouts with me pushing him in the stroller. Our neighbours got to know him; he got to know the neighbours. We’d stop at the park on the corner, and we’d swing and slide and eat a snack sitting on a blanket under a canopy of trees. He’d eat cheerios one by one and babble away in baby talk. I’d answer – just like I knew what he was saying. He beamed all the time. When he was tired, we’d head home for his afternoon nap. Sometimes, I’d sleep too.

Making New Friends

The two of us started drop-in, twice a week, gym and swim classes at the local YMCA. Jacob the toddler, delighted in climbing the monkey bars, sharing a massive, colourful parachute with the other kids and tumbling on soft, mushy mats. He ran everywhere he went, with that familiar, megawatt smile on his face. In the pool, there were noodles and toys and floaties to play with. We both had so much fun and made some new friends.

With our new friends in tow, we visited the zoo and the science center and played outside at the neighbourhood Birth Place Forest. The boys rode bikes or scooters down the front sidewalks. We had birthday parties and Halloween fun and watched hockey games. We ate ice cream together, while walking down the path by the river. In the hot, summer sun, Jacob and his buddies splashed and laughed and chased each other in and out of the backyard blow-up pool. Then, we’d sit on their damp towels by the boulevard under the giant poplar trees and count the cars driving by.

Preschool

On his first day of preschool, all dressed in new clothes with a tiny backpack slung over his shoulders, he posed for a photo in front of our garage door. He said,

“Grandma, I’m walking to school all by myself today.”

I burst his bubble when I told him it was too far away to walk. I’d have to drive him. From that day forward, and until his first day of grade 12, we have a photo of Jacob standing in front of our garage door. That became our yearly growth chart.

Unabashed Zest for Life

During trips to the skateboard park in the spring and summer, raking leaves into “jumping” piles in the fall, and building a backyard snow cave in the winter, Jacob has never failed to teach me something new. His unabashed zest for life, his buoyant attitude of always being “up for anything” and his love of nature, was contagious. His beaming countenance has never failed to touch my heart in a way that will remain with me until the day I die. I love him beyond words.

The Privilege of My Life

This year, Jacob turned 24 years old. With his mom, his dad, and his sister, the six of us spend time together, eating Sunday dinners or going to the movies or sitting outside at the lake. My bond with my grandson is unbreakable. I cherish all the hours we’ve spent together and look forward to all those hours still to come. Being with Jacob, being his grandma, is truly the privilege of my life. I would not change a thing.

Questions for You:

As a grandparent, what is your position on childcare for grandchildren? How do you cherish loved ones? Are your grandchildren a continuing part of your life?

There’s a phrase most of us have heard our entire lives: “Just be strong. You’ll bounce back.”

It’s meant kindly. But by the time you’ve lived six decades, you already know something that phrase refuses to acknowledge.

Some experiences don’t leave you unchanged. And they’re not supposed to.

The Myth We’ve All Been Sold

For most of our lives, resilience has been sold to us as toughness. Push through. Stay positive. Get back to normal. Act like it didn’t touch you.

A recent essay in The Conversation by Dr. Keith Bellizzi – a professor of human development at the University of Connecticut, a four-time cancer survivor, and author of Falling Forward: The New Science of Resilience and Personal Transformation – makes a case worth taking seriously.

Resilience, he argues, is not about bouncing back. It is about integrating what has happened into the life you are still living.

That reframe matters more after 60 than it does at any other stage. Because by this point in life, integration isn’t optional. It’s the only option the body actually accepts.

Why “Bouncing Back” Breaks Down After 60

According to U.S. Census data analyzed by Bowling Green State University’s National Center for Family & Marriage Research, roughly 30 percent of women aged 65 and older are widowed. That’s nearly one in three. Add divorce, caregiving loss, serious diagnoses, and the end of long-held careers, and the picture becomes clear: by this stage of life, significant loss is not an exception. It is the norm.

You cannot “bounce back” from becoming a widow, or from watching your parents decline, or from a body that now has limits it didn’t have before. These events are structural, not temporary. You cannot bounce back on a schedule set by someone who isn’t living your life.

When the culture keeps insisting you should spring back anyway, something quiet and corrosive happens: you start to feel like you’re failing at resilience. Like everyone else got the memo and you didn’t.

You didn’t fail. The definition was wrong.

What the Research Actually Shows

Bellizzi points out something important: in studies of people facing serious life disruptions, distress and resilience often show up at the same time, in the same person.

In his research with cancer survivors, participants reported real grief – about their bodies, their finances, their disrupted plans – alongside real growth, like deeper relationships and a clearer sense of purpose. Both were true. Neither canceled the other out.

There’s also a nervous system layer. When people reflect on hard experiences and work them into a coherent life story – rather than suppressing or denying them – the brain regions involved in emotional regulation and flexible thinking become more engaged. Making meaning out of what happened to you is not a sentimental exercise. It’s physiology.

What hard experiences leave behind is not evidence of failure. It’s evidence of a system that paid attention.

The Shift That Actually Helps

Instead of asking:

“How do I get back to who I was?”

A more honest question is:

“Who am I now, with everything I’ve lived through?”

That’s where resilience actually lives. Not in erasing the experience. In carrying it forward.

What This Looks Like in Real Life

Integration sounds abstract until you see it in small daily choices.

One of the simplest tools I’ve written about is what I call the Both/And Practice – holding two things that feel contradictory but are both true. I want to help AND I need to protect my energy. I’m grieving AND I’m still capable of joy. The old resilience model forced us to pick one. Integration lets both be true.

The other piece that matters after 60 is learning to read your own capacity honestly. Some days you have the bandwidth for difficult conversations, complex decisions, and long to-do lists. Other days you don’t – because of poor sleep, weather, an anniversary you forgot was coming, or simply the accumulated weight of what you’re carrying. I’ve written about these as window days and keyhole days. Window days are for the big things. Keyhole days are for canceling what can be canceled, resting without guilt, and doing only what’s essential.

A keyhole day might look like this: you wake up and something feels heavier than it did yesterday, though nothing in particular has happened. The old version of you would push through and call it discipline. The integrated version makes tea, moves the hard phone call to Thursday, and doesn’t apologize for either decision. Neither day is a failure. Both are information.

From there, integration looks like:

• Letting grief exist without rushing to fix it. You don’t have to be “over it” by a certain date. The calendar is not in charge of your heart.
• Building a life that reflects who you are now – not who you used to be, and not who someone else expects you to still be.

Resilient people aren’t relentlessly positive. They allow room for the whole range – gratitude and grief, hope and fear.

One Honest Caveat

This doesn’t mean everyone has to come out of hard experiences “transformed.” Sometimes life simply hands you something heavy and the work is just to keep walking. Growth isn’t a requirement. Integration isn’t a performance.

The point is permission – not pressure.

The Closing Thought

You don’t need to prove your strength by pretending nothing affected you. You don’t need to bounce back to count as resilient.

Resilience at this stage of life looks like this:

Carrying your experiences forward – and still choosing to live fully.

You’ve earned every chapter you’re carrying.

Let’s Have a Conversation:

What does resilience mean to you? In your experience can it be a BOTH/AND practice or is it one or the other practice?

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Originally posted at: Dorit Kemsley’s Navy Satin Shirt and Belted Pants