The Late Bloomer

I am 44 years old, sitting in a sun-filled room surrounded by my siblings and my dad. We encircle a hospital bed in a beautiful glass-enclosed room in the house where I grew up. I feel as if I am in a bad dream as we watch my mother take her final breath—just 69 years old when the cancer took her from us. Life is put in perspective when you watch someone you love breathe for the last time.

The final week before Mom died, I spent many hours at her side just watching her sleep and breathe. My sister and I had been sleeping on the floor beside her (on inflatable mattresses) for more than a week, waking every few hours to give her morphine to keep her comfortable. It was during one of the last times we spoke as mother and daughter that we had a special conversation, perhaps one that even inspired me on many levels to write this book.

I remember it vividly: my sister and I were sitting by the bedside, talking and reminiscing. We were lovingly confessing all the times while growing up that we got away with stuff and never got caught. We were laughing. My mother laughed and joked with us and told us that because we were under "special circumstances," we would not be grounded.

My mother then started talking about how she had been a late bloomer. She told us how she was a shy girl who developed into herself through the years; how she overcame self-doubt and learned to truly love herself and embrace life. She honestly loved her family and was truly the cornerstone of ours.

She related how she did things somewhat out of tradition to arrive at where she was in her life. She had no regrets, although she didn't want to miss out on watching all of us as we matured. She had accepted that leaving us physically was inevitable and that her body (which was causing so much pain) was no longer necessary.

Mom believed in heaven and she was anxious to go be with the Lord. She turned to my sister and told her that they were a lot alike. That my sister too was a late bloomer and that many good things were still in store for her. I remember feeling as if they were the lucky ones, that maybe the road less traveled was really the one to be on.

She then turned to me and said, "Kelly, you always knew what you wanted from such an early age (me, who can't make a decision), and you always did everything right. You really were a perfect daughter. You never gave us any trouble; you got good grades, got involved in everything at school and went on to college. You just knew what you wanted; you were driven to be and do and you did it. You graduated, got married to your high school sweetheart, bought a beautiful house, got your master's degree, and have two beautiful children. You truly have it all. You have been a joy to watch and love."

As I listened to her speak, choking back the tears, I realized she was right. I really did follow all the rules. I rarely strayed off course. I did it all the way I thought I was supposed to. So how come, deep inside, I longed for more? I wanted more.

I remember thinking, I am 44 years old; she is just 69! If I am to share her fate and only make it to 69, I have just 25 years left. I had twenty-five years to keep being the perfect daughter, the model citizen, and living the vanilla life I believed was my destiny.

Perhaps I had even fooled my own mother and had been untrue to myself. Or maybe that exact conversation, her words and her story, was actually the permission I had been waiting for, to dare to want for something more ... perhaps at that moment she was teaching me one final lesson, and letting me know that she knew that I too would be a late bloomer after all.

Finding Your Inspiration

Exploring What Calls to You

Have you ever gone into the paint store or the paint section of one of the home improvement stores? There are hundreds, if not thousands, of paint colors and samples. It can be overwhelming if you are not just browsing, but doing a painting project and you actually need to decide on a color.

I am familiar with 50 Shades of Grey, but who knew there were more than 100 shades of white? The decision can be daunting. Will the color on the teeny-tiny sample look even remotely the same once it is on your wall? Once you pick your hue, there is still the sheen to consider. Do you want eggshell, satin, gloss, semi-gloss, or a designer texture? Do you see where I am going with this? Decisions, decisions, decisions.

Many of us are repainting rooms for the second or even third time if we have lived long enough to do so. Maybe we have recently moved or just simply outgrown the color or we are redesigning our space to accommodate a change in our lives. Life is a lot like paint, a lot like relationships too. It always feels so good, so clean, and so fresh to have a newly painted space. Life, like relationships, is easy to change and often can in a few seconds, by chance or by choice.

I am talking about choice and the power of it. In just a few hours (or even a few minutes), you can change your mind set by selecting your color palate. Even if you pick your color and do nothing else, change within you begins to happen. You start to feel and imagine the color in your space, your life, and your relationships. You might jump a few steps ahead (like I always do) and head on over to your favorite shopping center, where you just happen to find the perfect accessories already waiting for you. It's as if the universe called ahead and said, "She's on her way!"

I am a true believer in the power of desire and intention and manifesting what you want. Whether it is a freshly painted room, running a marathon, landing your dream job, writing a book or finding your soul mate—it can happen, if you can imagine it!

Now that you are interested in getting to know yourself again (or for the first time), take some time to gather a few paint chips. Pick out whatever calls to you. Do you really want to add some color to your life, but your inner voice is talking back to you, saying, You will be sorry if you go with the yellow or The orange is really fun, bold, and funky, but that was you in college, you're different now. You are a mother (maybe even a grandmother) and you tell yourself, I am no longer fun and funky, and out goes the orange. You are drawn to the sea-glass blue, yet your inner voice says, nice, soothing, and calming, but this won't match the rest of the house and it really doesn't go with my furniture. And, Oh, the moss green is really peaceful and serene, but the gray-and-cranberry carpet you once had to have will look horrible with it.

So you repaint with the same color you always use, or a slight shade lighter to play it safe. You know you need to play it safe, because what if someone thinks the color you pick is too bold or they don't like it? What if your mother or sister...