Second born. Physician sacred calling 45 years. Nineteen kids some bio some adopted can remember which is which.

Grow up. Get excited. Give it all. Give out. Give up. Get over it. Get a new life.

Born an old soul. Abandonment issues most of my life. No longer settling or abandoning myself. Evolving. Manifesting.

Fifty years of footsteps carried me around the world; every mile taught me midlife is just the middle.

A rough start trying to figure out how to be loved; finding the answer and peace in myself.

Half at life at 50. Divorced and living a whole nother life with money, autonomy, grown kids. Bliss.

Emboldened by Women’s Movement and supportive boss, I, an unmarried, hopeless secretary became a screenwriter, Mrs. and Mom

Loss of my daughter reinvented me to be positive, creative, supportive of others. No regrets. Became a triathlete.

A life defined by kids, dogs, friends, people I’ve loved and my own conception of who I’ve become.

Daughter of narcissists, wife of bearded hero, mother of artists, mother of many. I am my own savior.

The complexity of life

Many poems in the making

A thousand paintings

Too many friends to count

Love

My head makes mistakes. My heart has led me astray. My body…don’t ask! My gut is infallible.

Lived by “never feared being lost just found a new way to go,” new adventures; new lives.

From soulless corporate career to beloved piano teacher. Retiring soon and seeking new adventures. I’m nowhere near finished.

I’ve come so far: changing, learning, growing, feeling too much, working on finding the elusive authentic me.

My stable upbringing and solid late marriage allowed me to confidently enjoy a long adventurous and satisfying life.

Blissfully naive and self-aware at 50. Foot massager. Warm mug. Purring. Petrichor. Glowing candles. Happily ever after.

Through tragic storms and wondrous heights, I discovered the ultimate truth: kindness and compassion are the final answers.

Wildling reaching for Farthest North, rocking the boat as she crosses beyond offspring…beloved with beautiful steadfast wings.

Born in ’52. Innocent, misunderstood, abused. Searching for love. Times two, now gone. Giving, loving, caring, still here.

Middle child, eczema, black tunnel divorce…making me strong, independent, creative…onto mother, mentor, grandmother…life is good.

My mother told everyone I was needy as a child.

Lived life that way.

Until I didn’t.

Long Island to Florida at 13. Shy, late bloomer. Fell in love with nature. Married my soul mate.

When I feel down
I look at this picture
and remember that
I am queen of the mermaids

Followed the good Jewish girl road map. Hit some dead ends. Found my own path. Now stronger, confident.

The quiet twin. The universe sent a mentor who saw my potential. Designer. Wife. Mother. Then—a rainmaker.

On bad days, regret devours me. On good days, I’m everyone’s best friend, hopelessly in love with humanity.

After the sadness fades there’s survival, peace, happiness, love, happy shiny future ahead! Time to do it all.

I travel someplace new on every birthday: unfamiliar landscapes, ancient recipes, unexpected art—fireworks for both brain and heart.

You all have nice teeth
wish I could have afforded to keep mine
empty spaces in my mouth

Best life now, worth the wait. Learning. Teaching. Making new memories, and reliving old, good ones. Happiness counts.

A penguin born to lions escaped into books until she could travel for real and discover worlds within.

I believed him. Emotional vulnerability is necessary to con, but he didn’t know who he was f*cking with.

Trudging the miles shouldering heavy loads, everything to everyone, losing my soul. This journey’s final leg, imminent, inescapable.

Grew up in a small town, didn’t have everything, but I had a library card, passport to everywhere.

Throughout my seven decades life has been love and family. Kindness and respect are reciprocal. Dessert, yarn: nonnegotiable!

I keep moving toward a more authentic me by challenging my limits, honoring the opportunities, because I can.

Brother dies. At 21, grief overwhelms. Recover at 23. Single till 39. Marry at 42. Baby at 43.

Storyteller, married young. Found helping careers, worked, wrote, and bore three children. Now I’m my husband’s caregiver. Bittersweet.

Scarred but standing, I faced the mirror. Once afraid, now unbroken. Cancer came, tried, failed. I’m still here.

Divorcing at midlife as a mom turned this once shy hippie girl into a successful journalist and author.

I ran away from home at 53. Then found the woman that I was always meant to be.

Not of this world. More outlier than outcast. I am who I am, take it or leave it.

Not one but two brushes with death too young. So a battery keeps my heart ticking at 59.

I’ve survived most abuses known. Yet still, I rise. I won’t let them define me. Only I can.

I died. When I woke up, I sounded like Brenda Vaccaro, not a good thing for a cantor.

After cancer, politics, and motherhood remade me, I claimed the story I’d buried–the one that demanded light.

Bohemian, nomadic adventuress and domestic goddess, in awe of this miraculous life I’ve been so blessed to live.

After years of being forced into a box, I found the courage to be whatever shape I want.

Silent night made me silent no more. Embracing the true power of “I am the way”: my mantra.

Lost neglected child, mother, survivor. Divorced, broke, alone. Words became my bricks. Built a house, work, hope, future.

A constellation of selves–neglected, lonely, and alone; trusting but betrayed; angry, determined; still awed by life’s beauty.

I used time like it was endless until I could see the end. Now I treasure each day.

I was the girl shot out of the cannon, Broadway-bound, now singing in synagogue and polishing poems.

I am reading and writing as much as I want, working to live, but not living to work.

Christmas Eve 2025. I’m inside. I was outside for 25 years. I learned a lot. I’m stronger now.

Wanted to be Miss Piggy. Theater school, crazy jobs, writing, love.
Parenting neurodivergent kids, big C twice. Defiant.

She dreams, fighting the shackles of expectations not meant for her, ascends to become her own fierce champion.

Four decades after my first riding lesson, I’m still enchanted with horses and my life in the saddle.

Spilling feminist truth, words on page to heal rage. Ongoing peace talks with a body overused and fractured.

Abused in many forms, fighter, owning my life, kind but powerful, empathetic, passionate, loud, and forever unabashedly real.

Tumultuous childhood, young love, mothering joys, loss, big C, scarred, learner, ever-evolving, stronger, wiser, lover, embracing ambiguity.

From disco queen to bingo queen, the in-between of love, laughter, and tears has been a blessing.

My husband bench-pressed me before his softball games, but that was 40 years and 20 pounds ago.

Unwanted at birth, overworked in life, survived a cult, men, and my own brain—emerged sarcastic, slightly feral.

My controlling mother said proper ladies don’t ride motorcycles; I say cheers to being thoroughly and completely improper.

Seven years after defending my Doctorate in Economics, I was fired as a “technological surplus” —shocked, in disbelief

Reading since 3, journaling since 14, striving to be the best partner, parent, writer, friend at every age.

A Leo woman in a relationship with a married Gemini man, started as sex but grew to love.

25 years keeping my head down; 45 speaking my truth despite barriers. Safe and blooming in old age.

Unwanted misfit. I know. Successful without pride. Ate my words until I couldn’t. Sometimes breathless yet I rise.

Sun. Fun. Lost. Boys. Blur. Lies. Man. Left. Found. Fought. Free. Friends. Michael. Love. Daughters. Sad. Fat. Family.

Early sob story. Grew beyond it. JOY now found in art, laughter, music, chosen family, and inner peace.

Rising above scapegoating and lies, to mothering hard, flawed and otherwise. Nothing keeps me from Spirit’s loving embrace.

Watching my parents drink themselves stupid and mean, I decided no, not for me. I am fine. Now.

Today he packed up the last box, loaded it into her truck, and promised to visit for Christmas.

89-year-old Polish girl from Brooklyn. 100% Pisces. She paints. She writes. She’s me. I love her.

The pills lined up like soldiers, fatigue glued me to the couch, quiet terror of every unfamiliar ache.

A Viking Jewess, I’ve set sail, wandered and wondered. Norway, USA, Israel, discovering new iterations of my multiplicity.

Bookish farm girl turned New Yorker. Single mom, favorite granny, author, world traveler, loyal friend and joyful lover.

Student, lover, warrior, corporate executive, husband, father, divorcee, remarried, transgender epiphany, renewed vows, Living life authentically, finally peace!

Fragile orchid learns to heed her soul’s desires. Transforms into a wildflower, thriving in the most unlikely places.

Loud, outcast; didn’t play by the rules. Until the rules changed, I found words gave me comfort.

Three countries, languages, two divorces, one long loving marriage then widowhood. Pandemic gift’s, the love of my life

An only child with five siblings, being wholly myself within a tribe. The gift has endured 70 years.

A Micro Memoir:
I was born.
For forty years, I did not die.
Then I learned to live.

Death defined childhood.
Birth defined womanhood.
I have no lover.
I am Crone, the love of my life.

Three of five, dreamer, reader, pleaser, always nurturing, surviving, recovering. Brave, fierce advocate. Guided by mommas–mine excluded.