Annie Begins – Reviewed by Traci Delisser

I read a lot and usually I am dying for my lunch breaks and daily train rides to pull out my book of the day and find out what happens next. With this book, not so much! It was highly predictable with the typical girl (Annie) who likes an “unavailable” guy, who in turn likes her only as a friend; while his not so refined friend becomes her rock. There were no surprises.

That said; Annie was very relatable: a giver who is always taking care of others, a bit embarrassed by her working class family, unsuccessful in love, crushing on the wrong guy and a smart professional doing great work for little and inadequate compensation. Annie could easily be me. You cannot help but cheer when she stands up for herself, turns a rejected idea into a business and finally recognizes the jewel under the mullet hair.

Annie’s young sick cousin, April, however is why I like this book. She is a strong, wise old soul who reminded me throughout that there is nothing greater than family, embracing love and being open and available to the possibilities.

The other star of the book is Anne’s roommate, Elk with her strong sense of self, confidence and candor. She embodies the lesson I am now learning in my life – Live your life on your terms and don’t apologize for doing so.

Traci Delisser is a proud Jamaican now living in the City of Brotherly Love. An attorney in a previous life, Traci now works in real estate finance and is now searching for her next career for her 40s. Her favorite quote is “People treat you how you allow them to treat you”.

You can pick up a copy of Michelle Toth’s Annie Begins on Amazon.

Destined to leave our own mark on history, The Women at Forty Project recognizes and honors the achievements of women, of all ages, around the world. In keeping with that spirit, today we’re spotlighting four women-run organizations that celebrate the power of women. These organizations are changing the world – one child, one person, one issue at a time. They inspire us to want to make our own history. Let them inspire you too… (Image: 3gf, Global Fund for Women grant recipient)

• The The National Women’s History Project was founded with the goal of “making history accurate” by recognizing and celebrating women’s contributions to the world.  In their own words “Multicultural American women are overlooked in most mainstream approaches to U.S. history, so the National Women’s History Project champions their accomplishments and leads the drive to write women back into history.”  Any nation that fails to tell the stories of its women, fails.

• The FEED Project raises money and awareness for the UN World Food Program by selling eco-friendly burlap tote bags and backpacks (pictured above.) The goal of FEED Projects is to sell as many FEED bags as possible to help educate the world’s hungry children. Since starting in 2007, the organization has provided over 50 million meals for needy children.

• The Global Fund for Women was founded in Palo Alto, California in 1987. The foundation’s mission is to advance women’s human rights by making grants to women’s groups that work to gain freedom from poverty, violence and discrimination. Why focus on women?  “Investing in women is the single most effective antidote to the world’s pressing problems: war, poverty, disease.” We agree.

• The Women Moving Millions campaign aims to inspire gifts of a million dollars and above in support of women’s funds across the globe. The campaign is the concerted effort of 150 women’s and girl funds that invest in women-led solutions to social issues like poverty and safety. In 2009, through various partnerships, they were able to raise more than $181 million.

If you’re making history or want to spotlight a woman or organization who is, send your story to contribute@womenatforty.com. We’ll feature your history making story in a future post.

Editor’s Note: This post originally ran during last year’s celebration of Women’s History Month

by Esther Kane

Although I’m not quite sure how it happened, I turned 39 this year. This came as a huge shock as I remember my 20s so vividly- as if they were yesterday. It seems to me that once you hit 20, the process of ageing accelerates exponentially until you’ve barely gotten used to the decade you’re currently in and no sooner-whoosh! – It disappears in a flash of lightening and you’re propelled (or catapulted as it often feels) into the next decade kicking and screaming all the way.

Even with all of the blessings that have come in my 30s (i.e., material comfort, wisdom, grounding, and a great marriage), I am completely bewildered at how I could possibly be turning 40 on my next birthday and don’t exactly relish the thought. Ideally, I’d love to be able to magically mix my 20s looks with my 30s wisdom and stability and stay 30 forever, but as we all know, this is an impossibility (maybe not for long due to how advanced science is these days…)

So I guess my only choice is to proverbially ‘like it or lump it’… I choose liking it-okay, maybe I don’t exactly LIKE it, but I am choosing to feel positive, excited, and empowered about growing older. I guess it beats the alternative- being fearful, resentful, and living in regret or staying stuck by denying the entire ageing process altogether. I definitely don’t want to become one of those women who do anything and everything in her power to stay youthful looking as long as is humanly possible. I definitely don’t find that empowering.

The fact is, we are all going to get older (that’s if we live long enough and are lucky enough), so we might as well have a positive attitude about it. To end, I’ll leave you with a list of some things I hope to enjoy in my 40s- the next decade life will soon hand me:

• Continuing the amazingly rewarding and successful career I have and trying some new things like doing more video/television work, seeing more and more clients via Skype and telephone, speaking at conferences and doing more tours with my books.
• Enjoying more of the good life with my darling hubby- taking fun trips, more dance lessons, more barbeques on our back deck, and enjoying our dear friends.
• Richer and more satisfying friendships with other women- I have started to build these in my 30s and look forward to nurturing and enriching these amazing bonds with my peers.
• More time with my family- travelling to exotic places together and enjoying family vacations/family time.
• Letting go of painful things, which happened in my past in other words-more therapy!
• Enjoying my hard-earned wisdom and passing it onto future generations of girls and women.
• Accepting my looks and body, as they are no matter what age I am.
• Enjoying more hobbies I love but don’t spend enough time doing like reading, knitting, mosaic-making, dancing, and doing hot yoga.
• Doing more writing and publishing.

For more about Esther Kane and her  Making Peace with Food and Your Body Program in April, click here.

Esther Kane, MSW, RCC relocated to the Comox Valley over two years ago from Vancouver. She is in full-time private practise as a psychotherapist in Courtenay. Esther has over a decade of experience counselling women and their loved ones with a multitude of presenting problems. Her main focus is helping women to become free of barriers which keep them stuck so that they can become all that they dream of being. You can learn more about Esther on her website www.estherkane.com.

This post originally ran in August, 2010.

No, that’s not the new me. The new (just new, not improved) Rachel Dachel still looks and sounds the same as she always has. It’s funny; I still have the same laugh, the same walk, the same cadence to my speech. My clothes fit the same, my hair still loops, twirls and swirls in its same crazy curls. Every freckle on my face is exactly where I remember it being yesterday, last week, last month and for eternity.

I’m still left-handed. Well, yeah, I am pretty much ambidextrous, but just as I always have, I still favor my left hand and enjoy the struggle that is at times a manual can opener. I enjoy the same books, movies and music that I always have and I still drive the same car, go to the same office and have all of the same friends and family that I always have. So in essence, nothing has changed. But simultaneously, EVERYTHING has changed. I don’t know this new woman in my mirror.

While she may look, sound and behave exactly like me, she isn’t me. I know it doesn’t make sense to you because it makes absolutely no sense to me. I never in a million years would’ve thought that I’d wake up to find this stranger inhabiting my body and living my life right before my eyes. I never would’ve thought that it would be so foreign and traumatic. But it is.

You see, I got married at forty years old. I thought that marriage at forty meant that we were mature and more capable of making decisions from a logical and rational point of view. I thought it meant that we were blessed and fortunate to have found one another at a later point in life and that we would be more appreciative than our younger selves and counterparts of the joy and miracle of being in love and getting married.

I thought that after walking down the aisle and saying our vows I would breathe a sigh of relief and that the stress of caterers, florists, musicians and officiants would simply melt away and leave in their place those warm, glowing feelings of love and satisfaction. The knowledge that the government and the world now recognize us as a union, as a united front who will navigate and brave the world together hereafter was supposed to make me feel safe and more connected to my partner. And it does.

But nonetheless, I’m having an identity crisis. You see, before we got married, I agreed to take my husband’s last name. To some it may not seem like a big deal, but for me it was a major compromise; it was the entire reason that we didn’t get married sooner. It took me a long time to consent to take his last name. I attribute that in part to my independence, but largely to the fact that I, as the only female born in the family for three generations, had been quite celebrated when born into the name. And for forty years I have proudly, dutifully and lovingly carried the name that other women could only obtain through marriage. I was special; I was unique, an original.

In recent years, two little girls joined me in that exclusive club. My nieces and I bonded over the special sisterhood we shared that could be summed up in six simple letters. They delighted in the knowledge that I would one day pass down to them my monogrammed handkerchiefs and jewelry. They vowed that they would tell their daughters how I had climbed trees, jumped off of docks, bicycles and big wheels and even wrestled my brother and all of my cousins as the sole dash of sugar and spice in a sea of snakes, snails and puppy dog tails. I showed them every scar I EARNED in keeping up with the boys, and told the harrowing tales that accompanied each one. They laughed at my childhood photos that depicted me in ribbons and curls, soft satin sashes on flowing dresses—with Mercurochrome-soaked bandages on both knees. The perfect portraits of my struggle to fit in while being the only girl.

And somehow, I felt at peace with the fact that upon my death, they would take up the cause and carry on. But now, it feels as though that death is impending. I’ve checked for ravens and crows…thankfully none yet! But it still feels as though a part of me has died. Who knew? Who knew it would have this sort of effect on me? Perhaps if I were a giddy girl in her 20s it would be different? Maybe I’d be excitedly scribbling “Mrs.” followed by my first name and his last name—oh wait, that’s my last name now, huh?

Well there is no time for maybes and what ifs. I knew the job was dangerous when I took it so there is no point in being squeamish now. I’m saying goodbye to the old me and making my best effort to embrace the new me in her stead. It isn’t easy, but I know it is worth it. I’ll wish her well as I send her on her way, in what has turned out to be the bittersweet consequence of being married at forty.

My cousin accompanied my aunt to a doctor’s appointment. My aunt’s doctor is a man, a fact that completely shocked my five year old cousin. She was shocked to learn that boys can be doctors too. You see her doctor is a woman and a couple of her aunts are nurses. When you think about it, that’s pretty cool.

It’s cool because if you’re a woman who’s over the age of 40 you remember when we were five and women were only allowed to be nurses, teachers, secretaries and housewives. I say allowed because although those professions are as rewarding and honorable as any, in general, girls were steered towards them, regardless of their personal interests, likes, and talents and discouraged from pursuing other professions.  Fast forward to 2011 and the women who are in these professions are there because they choose to be, not because they had no other options.

I contrast the hopefulness I feel when I hear my cousin’s story, with the exhaustion (for lack of a better word) I feel when I hear another story about another wildly successful young female celeb/entertainer who reaches her 18th birthday and equates womanhood with nudity and overt sexuality. Brittney, Christina Aguilera and now Miley Cyrus (none of whom I really follow) all “celebrated” their womanhood by stripping down to almost nothing and dry-humping stripper poles. In all cases I think cages were involved as well as images of bondage. Is that what passes for womanhood in the 21st century?

We’ve left an era where womanhood was defined by one’s ability to keep a spotless house, cook the perfect pot roast and produce 2.5 children, and entered one where womanhood is defined by one’s ability to undress. There’s got to be a happy medium in there somewhere. Now if we could only define where that is…

I am a 48 yr old female, actually have 2 kids, but still, to this day never been on a real date. I seem to attract the “bad boys” and never really care in the end. I am a semi attractive woman, great sense of humor, and good Mom, but deeply want the closeness of someone who cares. It now bothers me that I have not been out on a real date, never a Valentine for me, never a gift just for nothing. Is there really someone out there for everyone? I wonder!

I think the question posed by the reader is a legitimate one. Is there really someone out there for everyone? I know we’ve all been raised on the romantic notion that yes, there really is one perfect man for every woman, but what if that’s not the case?

In a “Name it and claim it” culture which embraces the power of intention, are we setting ourselves up for disappointment by insisting that if we just “work on ourselves” true love will find us? And, am I upsetting the Zen apple cart by even suggesting that everyone who wants one won’t necessarily find a “Mr. Right?”

So, is there someone out there for everyone? And if the answer is no, does that have to be seen as a negative thing? Share your thoughts in the comment section or on our Facebook Fan Page.

When I was younger and dumber I dated someone even younger and dumber than I was. He’d been dropping hints like crazy about what he wanted for Christmas – a boxed DVD set of his favorite action movie series. It wasn’t the most expensive gift I’ve ever given anyone, but it wasn’t what I’d call cheap either. His gift to me was. Cheap, that is.

Now I know all the adult concepts surrounding gift giving. It’s the thought that counts, better to give than to receive, yada yada yada. That Christmas, younger and dumber than me got me a CD. Not a CD player, a CD. It was a new release, so I guess I should have been more excited. I wasn’t.

It wasn’t that the CD was only about $10 – I’ve gotten hand-written notes I’ve valued far more. And it wasn’t that mediocre-boyfriend worked at an electronic superstore and probably grabbed the CD off the shelf on his way out to meet me that evening. Ok, maybe it was that. But what really got to me was that he, in essence, had asked for an expensive gift knowing all along that he had no intention of getting me anything in return. Petty? I don’t think so. His gift giving tendencies turned out to be an accurate indicator of his personality and the type of boyfriend he really was. I soon realized that I was dealing with someone who was selfish and more concerned about getting what he wanted than anything else.

Thankfully, now 40 and a little wiser, I’m aware that the biggest mistake I made in that relationship was not in giving an expensive gift to someone who gave little in return, but giving something much more valuable, my heart, to someone who hadn’t earned it.

During this holiday season, amidst all the frenzied gift giving and re-gifting, I’m trying to focus on the gifts we can’t really put a price on. The love of family, trust-worthy friends and the prayers and hopefulness that brings in the new year. I’m wishing the same for all of you. By the way, I still have the CD, the boyfriend however is long gone. As my grandmother would say – “good riddance to bad rubbish!”

Merry Christmas, Happy holidays and here’s to leaving all your bad rubbish behind in 2010!

I officially fell off the wagon, or as I like to call it, “the back of the food truck” somewhere in Birmingham, Alabama after a barbeque feast fit for a queen. Due to a meat induced high, the details are somewhat sketchy, but there was roasted corn, potato salad, grits, biscuits, sausage and cinnamon buns, and that doesn’t even include dinner. *Sighs*

Today, back to reality. And as 40 year old bodies often do, mine is reacting negatively to the meat parade that just worked its way through my system. I have no one to blame but myself though, so you’ll hear no moaning from me. Instead I’m stocking up on the veggies my body is now most certainly craving and drinking water like I just got out of the desert.

The 28 degree mornings in Georgia have thrown another wrench in my “the morning walks will save me” plan – Side note, yesterday I saw a guy jogging in short-shorts in blustery cold weather and thought “How dedicated. How inspiring. How stupid.” So I’ve got to come up with a plan-B workout that won’t have me in sub-freezing temperatures and won’t bore me to tears. Any suggestions? I can’t go into the Christmas holidays with a bigger surplus than I already have – that would be depressing.

So, how are you handling the holiday feeding frenzy? Share your thoughts in the comment section, or on our Facebook fan page.

I made the journey years ago. My cruise to the “bottom of the world” began with an 11-hour flight from Atlanta to Buenos Aires, Argentina. After a night on the town and an excellent steak dinner (Argentina is known for its beef), I was up early the next morning for a three-and-a-half-hour flight to Ushuaia, Argentina—the southern-most country in the world. This seaport and ski town is partly surrounded by the beautiful Andes Mountains. One of the jumping-off points for a cruise to the “bottom of the world” is Ushuaia, Argentina. I took the Clipper Adventurer, with about 100 other passengers.   The cruise line has been cruising to Antarctica since 1998. (Photo: Kalin with a few of Antarctica’s most famous inhabitants)

After a few hours onboard, the joy and excitement about my adventure was soon exchanged for tension, as we started moving through the most turbulent waters in the world – the Drake Passage.  For almost 48 hours, the ship rocked back and forth so harshly that passengers rolled out of their beds, got sick, and listened as dishes crashed to the floor.  As a person who gets seasick easily, it made me wonder why in the world I’d taken this trip.  Luckily the ship sold seasickness wristbands.  They worked wonders, and I’ve been using them ever since.

But once I saw my first iceberg, it was all worth it.  Antarctica is one of the most spectacular places I’ve ever seen.  There are miles and miles of icebergs with amazing shapes that look as if they’ve been sculpted by an artist.  We passengers fell all over ourselves oohing, aahing  and clicking our cameras.   The pristine beauty is jaw-dropping.  There were wildlife experts, naturalists and historians onboard to give us briefings on each area of the continent we visited, as well as its animals.

Various species of penguins make up the largest number of native life on the continent.  They were funny little things, waddling by, doing their daily routines as if we weren’t there.  Penguins have no land predators, so they’re fearless of humans.  Still, travelers are asked not to touch them or disturb their environment in any way.  I could sit and watch them all day.  Also entertaining were roaring sea lions lying on top of each other, blued-eyed shags (birds) feeding their young, fur seals sunning on floating ice caps, and whales diving in and out of the water as giant gods of the sea.

I had fun with passengers sliding down snowy hills on “sleds” made out of garbage bags, taking inflatable “Zodiac” motorboats around the icebergs, and holding a small chunk of an iceberg in my hands.  Four fifths of icebergs are under water.  So what you see above water is literally the “tip of the iceberg.”   One of the highlights of the trip was a place called Deception Island, where volcanic heat makes hot springs.  Sitting in the warm water in my bathing suit, looking out at all the icebergs and snowy hills surrounding us was both awesome and surreal.  After drying off and getting back onboard, the ship’s chef treated us to a wonderful barbeque on deck.  Well, it was summer in Antarctica!  The Clipper’s food is excellent, with three 5-star meals a day.

Know Before You Go:

• Try to book a year in advance — the cost of cruising the continent ranges from $7,000 to $11,000 (with a red parka included)
• You must have a passport to fly to Argentina for boarding.
• Take your Ipod – there’s not much music variety on the cabin radio.
• Pack lots of layers of clothing, and start with thermal underwear and socks.
• Take seasickness wristbands – they work better than pills and only cost about $10 at any drugstore.
• Read the book “Endurance” which tells the true account of explorer Ernest Shackleton’s trip to Antarctica on a ship which sank in 1915.  He and his crew were rescued after almost two years of living in the harsh environment of Antarctica.
• For more information visit www.clippercruises.com, www.iaato.org or www.lonelyplanet.com.

My trip to Antarctica was a trip of a lifetime.  It was a spiritual experience that made me feel like a small blip on the earth’s surface, giving me a new appreciation for the environment.   So why not celebrate your 40th birthday at the bottom of the world?  It’s a destination that gives you major bragging rights.  I mean, how many people can say they’ve been to the seventh continent? And remember:  Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness — Mark Twain.

Kalin Thomas is Women at Forty’s Travel & Leisure Editor. She is also Senior Writer/Photographer for SoulOfAmerica. Before starting her own multimedia company, Kalin spent 17 years at CNN where she won several awards for her work as producer/correspondent for CNN’s weekly travel program, CNN TravelNow. She is currently writing a book about her travels. For more information on Kalin, visit www.seetheworldproductions.com.

I knew I was truly fortunate when I found love again at 38 years old. After kissing more than my fair share of frogs and marrying a toad, I had resigned myself to the fact that there was no prince for me and that my happily ever after would not include a husband, 2.6 children who were conceived “old school style” and a white picket fence. I was perfectly alright with adoption and a condo, but I still really hoped to find a suitable mate who would one day become my husband.

Be careful what you wish for. I met a wonderful man in September 2008 and as unlikely as it sounds, just knew that we would one day be married from the very moment I met him. On our first date we took a photo together as a keepsake to show our future grandchildren. Sure, it sounds pretty corny and a bit absurd, but there was just something between us that we both felt but could not explain. Almost immediately friends and relatives began to inquire about our plans for the future and when we would marry, and we just smiled, chuckled and replied “we’re talking about it.”

Talking about it was working out just fine for me. It gave me the security of knowing I had a committed relationship with a loving man who wanted to build a life with me, without the anxiety of planning a glorified party where everyone would gawk at me as I stumbled down an aisle and hurled myself toward the object of my affection and obscenities would fly from my mouth as the church crumbled around me. We dated, exchanged keys, met one another’s families and began to build that life as a couple. Relatives would say “Where’s Corey?” before even greeting me if I dared to enter a family function without him. My favorite niece greeted him as “Uncle Corey” the first time she met him and asked if she could be in our wedding the second time.

Wedding? WEDDING?!?!Who said anything about a wedding? Sure, I had pictured myself marrying this wonderful man, but my visions were more along the lines of a date at city hall, a weekend in Vegas with a drive-thru ceremony or perhaps an isolated Caribbean beach at sunset. He knew that I was a bit gun-shy after the spectacular disaster that was my first marriage and still traumatized from the divorce. He also knew that I greatly dislike being the center of attention, so he never pressed the issue of marriage or a wedding. We just accepted that marriage was something on the horizon for us and I took it for granted that he wanted the same no fuss-no muss, low-key nuptials that I did.

I’m glad that I didn’t bet on that as a test of our compatibility. As it turns out, Corey wants a church wedding with flowers and attendants and a reception to follow. Who knew? After months of attempting to camouflage my wedding-related anxiety by simply not discussing it, we finally decided to sit down and make some decisions and move forward in our relationship. It was then that I had the revelation that as a never-before-married only child, Corey wanted to have a traditional wedding filled with family and close friends, complete with dark suit, wedding dress, bouquet and tiered cake. Really…Who knew??

Did he forget that I eloped the first time I got married? Had the terror I described of having to plan a wedding conveniently slipped his mind? Had he gone mad? No—none of the above. He simply loved and trusted me enough to be honest with me about what he truly wanted for himself, for our families and for me. I cannot fault him for that, not in a million years.

While I am definitely more interested in a marriage than a wedding, I am happy to agree to the latter in an effort to begin the former on the right foot. After all, isn’t marriage ultimately about compromise and partnership? Are my anxieties and neuroses more important than his hopes and desires? Definitely not. So, we’ve set a date and chosen a location; I’ll be 40 years old when we take our vows—two milestones in the same year. Now we have to choose colors and menus, flowers, attendants, etc. There’s also the matter of the dark suit and the wedding dress…I hope he shaves his legs.

Rachel Dachel is a freelance writer and editor, and creator and author of the blog Rachel-y Motivated Incidents. She’s a frequent contributor to Women at Forty.