There was a man named Michael Finnegan
He had whiskers on his chinnegan
Wind blew them off but they grew in again
Poor old Michael Finnegan
Begin again
Several women friends in my life are recreating themselves right now. Some are beginning again because they want to. Others are beginning again because of changes that are beyond their control. One is a teacher who is going to run for political office. One is a professor on medical leave. One is an empty-nester in search of both a job and a new vocation. One is a lawyer who wants to move into the non profit arena. Then there's me.
I am two years from retirement. I am preparing to begin again. My work as a teacher, parish music director, and program director for the Lupus Foundation of Florida all bring me great joy. Some will stay after retirement, others will go. My vision for my life requires new skills. I have found myself more passionate about learning than I have been at any other time in my life.
When my "whiskers grow in again" maybe they will be hot pink, five mile orange, and neon green! One thing is certain, they won't be pastel!
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