One of my favorite rom-coms from the early 1990s is a little-known film called “Prelude to a Kiss,” starring a luminous Meg Ryan at her quirkiest and a young, handsome Alec Baldwin before he developed a reputation as a narcissistic asshole.
 
It’s basically a body-swapping fantasy, in which Rita (Ryan) gets a kiss from an elderly stranger at her wedding at the precise moment they each wish they were old/young. Hijinks and hilarity ensue as Rita’s soul in the old dude’s body spends most of the movie trying to convince her new husband, Peter (Baldwin), that it’s really her under all that saggy skin and ear hair.
 
When Rita and the old man finally switch back to their own bodies at the end, he says, “Can I give you two a piece of advice? Floss.”

When I first heard that in the movie theater in 1992 at age 20, I was all, “Whatever.” Now, at 47, I have a sincere appreciation for what the old dude was saying. What he meant was, “Take care of your body now so you can minimize its inevitable betrayal later.”
 
I feel that deep down in my bones today. While my teeth are still in pretty good shape, the rest of me is falling apart. Sometimes just standing up too fast is enough to lay me out for a couple days. For real, tho.
 
Don’t worry, I’m not going to spend 800 words bitching about middle age, though by God, I totally could. No, what I want to talk about is how getting older, and the various physical ailments and limitations that come with it, has made me realize I have to live with intention to get the most out of it.
 
In other words, I gotta get my shit together before it’s too late.
 
I’ve been working on living a more purposeful life in fits and starts for the better part of a decade, starting around the time I quit drinking alcohol in 2009. I stepped it up a notch when I launched my own consulting business in 2012. But y’all, I’ve really elevated my game in the past couple of years.
 
To me, living with intention means making deliberate choices about how I want to exist in the world and taking action to achieve specific goals. Like I said, I’ve done that in one-off situations for a long time, but it’s never been an overarching theme in my life until recently.
 
I want to do better and be better, but more than that I want to live better during the second (hopefully) half of my life.
 
What’s made the biggest difference in getting my entire “self” centered has been bringing daily meditation into my life. Now people, I am by far no Zen master who can empty her mind of all thoughts and achieve an hour of nirvana.
 
We’re talking 10-15 minutes at best, and my mind is bouncing around like a toddler with ADHD who’s had too much sugar and missed her nap. For me, it’s about observing my thoughts without judgement as they pop up, then gently lassoing my brain back to the present moment, all the while trying to concentrate on my breath, a tension-releasing body scan or a repeated mantra.
 
It is not sophisticated or perfect by any stretch, but Lordy, what a difference it has made. Life is simpler and calmer when I regularly meditate.

Around the same time I started meditating, I began to see everything in my life with more clarity. As a result, I felt empowered to start making bigger changes.
 
I paid off all my credit card debt. I visited the desert in New Mexico and booked a bucket-list trip to Ireland. I asked a woman I love and respect in the recovery community to mentor me and guide me to the next level of spiritual connection (it sounds a lot more woo-woo than it actually is, I swear.)
 
Then, a few months ago, I got out of the habit of meditating. I can’t pinpoint exactly why. My best guess is that I was going through a period of self-sabotage.
 
We all do that from time to time. There’s some part of us that doesn’t want to heal or isn’t ready to let go of old, comfortable behavior, so we do what we’ve always done. It’s a sucky place to be.
 
Anyhoo, I started meditating again a few weeks ago, and while it’s definitely messy as hell because I am so out of practice, it’s already doing its job by getting me centered again.
 
The biggest benefit so far is that it’s motivated me to be more intentional about my physical health — and not just for vanity’s sake, which has always been my main impetus in the past. I want to feel my best, not just fit back into my favorite jeans. I want to be strong and healthy enough to hike in Arizona and take a solo trip to Greece. I want to live to meet my grandchildren, assuming my 24-year-old son ever gets his shit together.
 
But I digress.
 
I’m starting a clean-eating diet and workout plan in a few days that’s got me only slightly more excited than scared, but I’ve learned from experience to temper my expectations.
 
No matter how much weight I lose or how hard I work out, I will never be as svelte and healthy as a woman 20 years younger. It just ain’t happenin’ folks. Gravity is not a middle-aged woman’s friend.
 
I have to admit, a lingering sense of regret is tripping me up a bit. Why, oh why, didn’t I take better care of myself in my 20s and 30s? Not only did I suck at flossing, I smoked, drank, ate whatever I wanted and only got off my ass if someone was chasing me.
 
Just like today’s impertinent little whippersnappers, I thought I was invincible. If a wizened version of myself had time-traveled back to 1992 and told me to stop abusing my body, I would have told her to fuck right on off.
 
No matter. Regret won’t change the past. If sobriety has taught me anything, it’s that all I have is today.
 
Living with intention means being mindful, and mindfulness keeps me in the here and now. So right now, please excuse me while I empty my kitchen of crackers and cookies and chips (oh my!), then hop on the treadmill.
 
And later, when I brush my teeth, you can bet your ass I’ll floss.

I’m super lucky I get to do what I love for a living, and I’m extremely thankful that I get to do it on my own terms. Every time my little marketing and public relations business successfully completes another 365-day journey around the sun, I consider it to be a major milestone.
 
Six years ago this month, I quit my last corporate job and went out on my own as a freelance writer and media consultant. It is still the best career decision I ever made. Read all about my big leap into entrepreneurship here.

Every single day without exception, I wake up happy to go to work. My heart positively overflows with gratitude for the life and career I have somehow managed to create for myself. (Gross, I know. Go ahead and roll your eyes. I’ll wait.)

Some people measure success in dollars, but for me, if I have a strong base of loyal and repeat clients, a steady stream of new referrals from happy former clients, and I’m able to maintain a modest, comfortable lifestyle year after year, then as far as I am concerned, I am killing it. Check, check and check!!
 
Every few months, I’m approached by an acquaintance, former colleague or LinkedIn connection who has been laid off, is pondering a career change or just wants to explore alternate careers options. They all offer to buy me a cup of coffee in exchange for my success story, such as it is.
 
I always say yes to these invitations because I had some wonderful mentors and cheerleaders who encouraged me to go out on my own, and who continue to support me with their wise counsel and referrals to this day. I’m a big believer in karma, so paying it forward is the least I can do to keep my personal universe in balance. Spread the love and the love comes back tenfold, or something like that.
 
Anyhoo, in celebration of this month’s auspicious anniversary, and in anticipation of an upcoming coffee date I’ve got on my calendar this week, I thought I’d share a few things I’ve learned in my freelance career so far.
 
Working from home rocks. It takes a lot of discipline, though, so it’s not for everyone. I am very organized and kick ass at time management. Plus, I am an introvert and draw a lot of energy from my alone time. So it’s a perfect fit for me.
 
Even though I’m usually in my pajamas when I sit down at my desk, which is conveniently just steps away from my bedroom, I stick to a regimented schedule as if I still worked in an office building downtown.
 
I am in front of my computer no later than 8:30 a.m. I take a half-an-hour lunch around noon, usually standing at my kitchen counter and watching a few minutes of my latest Netflix binge on my iPad. I go right back to my desk, and I’m done for the day between 4 and 6 p.m.
 
I take a few minutes here and there to stretch, to let my dogs out, step outside for a breath of fresh air and to brush my teeth, but I stay focused and productive ALL DAY. In fact, I get more work done during the week now than I ever did in the corporate world. 
 
Strengths can become defects if taken to the extreme, however, so I have to force myself to get out of my pajamas — and my comfort zone. I leave the house for client meetings or events a couple times a week.

I also try really hard to be flexible, embrace change and go with the flow, but that does not come naturally. Like, AT ALL. But no matter how hard it is, I can always see the benefit because it helps me grow personally and professionally.
 
We all deserve a break. This might sound counterintuitive, but I didn’t go into business for myself so I could work all the time. I know some entrepreneurs work 24/7, but that ain’t me. Because that ain’t me, I’ll probably never be a millionaire, but I am 100 percent OK with that.
 
I don’t work weekends unless I have a special event or a major media appearance to coordinate. Weekends are sacred to me, since I don’t get to take time off like normal people. (The only downside to self-employment: no more paid vacations.) As far as I am concerned, my brain and body are on the charger on Saturdays and Sundays so I can be at full capacity Monday morning.
 
I’ve learned to also take random days or half-days off whenever possible. If I finish a major project on a Tuesday at 2 p.m. and don’t have another looming deadline, I don’t force myself to fill the rest of the day. I reward myself with a mental health break, often in the form of a new book or a trip to Target.

Do what you say you’re going to do, every time. I firmly believe the main reason I’ve enjoyed continual success is not because I am the best writer, content developer, social media planner, event coordinator or PR rep — it’s because I am reliable.
 
Seriously, y’all. I always meet my deadlines. I reply to emails within 12 hours or less. I return phone calls. I follow up. I don’t take on a project if I know from the jump that I won’t be able to get it done on time. The media loves working with me because I respect their deadlines.
 
If I do one project for a client, I almost always get additional work from them because they figure out pretty quickly that they can count on me. I have worked hard to establish my reputation, and it is the foundation on which my entire business is built.
 
Follow your instincts. I can usually tell when a project or a person is not going to be a good fit, so I’ve learned to give myself permission to let them go. I’ve also learned what too much work looks like for me, and I am here to tell you that no amount of money is worth my health.
 
When I have to turn a project down, I refer the client to one of several trusted colleagues, mainly because I think that’s the classy thing to do. Plus, I would rather lift up other writers up than compete with them. There’s plenty of work to go around, so why not spread the love?
 
It really is who you know. For me, this ties in with reputation. When I first made the decision to freelance, I was lucky to start out with a pretty good reputation thanks to my years as a journalist. I was also fairly well known and well liked in the business community, and I had a lot of decision makers in my virtual Rolodex.
 
I made a list of everyone I could think of who I thought might need communications support or knew someone who knew someone who needed a writer, etc. And I called them all.

Those leads became clients or brought in new possibilities, and that core group of contacts continues to bring me referrals today.
 
I networked my ass off at the beginning, letting everyone and anyone know I was going out on my own. Today, I continue to be very visible and vocal when it comes to my work. I’m not shy about telling people what I do for a living, and that I'm pretty darn good at it. Nine times out of 10, folks who already know and like you want to hear what you’re up to, and they’ll want to help you succeed.
 
If someone helped you in your career, whether they were a boss, a mentor, a work BFF or a random person you met at a networking event, I encourage you to pay that forward. And if you need help or advice, invite someone you admire out for lunch.  Be good to each other, y'all. We're all in this together.

Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a coffee date.

Truth bomb coming in hot: Whoever said money can’t buy happiness was never $40,000 in credit card debt.
 
Yeah, yeah. I get the essence of that old maxim —if you’re generally an unhappy person, no accumulation of physical wealth will change that. Misery is a choice, happiness comes from within … yada, yada.
 
For quite a few years now, I’ve chosen gratitude over wallowing, and my life is pretty amazing as a result. I don’t do math very well (I’m a writer, after all), but this fact adds up for me time and again: The more I count my blessings, the better my life gets.
 
All that being said, I am here to tell you that when I made the final payment on my last remaining credit card, the balance of which had been hanging on by its gnarly-ass fingernails for nearly 20 years, I experienced a palpable wave of relief and joy the likes of which I only felt one other time in my life, and that was after the birth of my child.

It turns out that money in the form of debt relief makes me real fucking happy. 
 
So, how did an otherwise intelligent and conscientious person get in the hole to the tune of 40 large? Let me ‘splain.
 
I wish I was one of those people who learned to manage her money early in life, but knowing how to balance a checkbook does not set one on a lifelong path toward financial wellbeing. And that’s about as much as I knew about personal money management as a young adult.
 
All ledger balancing teaches you is how to keep from getting overdrawn at the bank, which I admit is a handy skill. I haven’t bounced a check in 30 years, thankyouverymuch. (Kids, a check is a piece of paper that we old folks used to put in an envelope and drop in a big metal box to pay bills.)
 
But I digress.
 
What I did NOT learn in school, from a two-hour Junior Achievement class or from my parents is how to live within my means.
 
When I wandered up to the Citibank booth in the student center quad during freshman orientation, I may as well have had a bullseye on my forehead. I was easily enticed by the promise of “free” money. So, off I went, an 18-year-old sucker with a $250 limit at an interest rate of 22 percent.
 
Way back in 1990, college kids were easy prey for the Citibanks of the world. Companies weren’t required to put the disclosure you see on statements today that says it will take you 150 years to pay off your balance if you only make the minimum payment. I had no idea that my shopping spree at Express was going to ultimately cost me four times what was on my receipt.
 
The shopping trip that maxed out my card in one fell swoop was the first in a long line of transactions that gave me short-term gratification and long-term guilt.
 
There’s a strong possibility that a disclosure on my statement wouldn’t have made a whit of difference in my purchasing habits, given who I was at the time. And unfortunately, who I continued to be until about 10 years ago — always chasing immediate relief rather than taking a deep look at my own shortcomings. Not an excuse for my behavior, but certainly a reason.
 
Anyway, I worked a part-time job, so I was able to make the minimum payments on time. So, guess what? Those Citibank fuckers raised my limit. And then guess what? I shopped and maxed it out again.
 
As long as I kept up with the payments, my limit steadily increased. My good credit also got the attention of other predators, er, I mean lending institutions, not to mention retail stores that offered their own cards, which coincidentally came with a promotional discount on my first purchase … so before I knew it, I had a wallet full of depleted cards and a bunch of random shit I didn’t need and couldn’t afford. And all of this was before my 21st birthday!

I would like to take a moment to say that I take full responsibility for my poor choices, and I wouldn’t change any of them because they made me who I am. But can you see how easy it was for me to get sucked into the debt cycle?? I know I’m not the only one whose willful ignorance made them easy game.
 
OK, so that was Take One of Debt Hell. Here’s Take Two.
 
By age 22, I was married to, let’s just say A VERY UNMOTIVATED INDIVIDUAL, and I was pregnant. Circumstances not being ideal, I defaulted on my credit card payments. My parents took pity on me and paid them off, to the tune of about $1,500. (Thanks again, Mom and Dad!!)
 
By age 25, I was divorced with a toddler, back in school finishing my degree, and my credit score was for shit. Along came Capitol One with an offer I couldn’t refuse. A card with a $200 limit and a 26 percent interest rate that would help me rebuild my credit.
 
And for real, y’all, that’s ALL I intended to do with it. I eventually wanted to buy a house, so I needed to get right with TransUnion.
 
Unfortunately, the cycle soon started all over again. Except this time, instead of a new pair of jeans at Express, I was charging clothes for my son and emergency daycare expenses. OK, that’s reasonable, right?

But just a taste was never enough for Ms. Addictive Personality. Pretty soon, my guilt over having to be both mother and father to my kid gave me an excuse to start charging furniture, toys and vacations. All for the benefit of the child, you see. **SIGH**
 
Once again, I was living the life I thought I wanted, and not the one I had. Good (and ample) credit gave me the means. But it also placed a Wile E. Coyote-style anvil on top of my head.
 
Crushing debt is a real thing, man. At my worst 10 years ago, I had six credit cards totaling the aforementioned $40K.
 
I was making a decent, middle class salary at the time, but I couldn’t get my arms around how to pay off what I owed. So I just paid the minimum and tried to ignore the fact that I wasn’t making a dent.
 
Interestingly, it wasn’t until I took a huge financial risk and started my own business that I began to see a way out of the weeds.
 
An elderly relative passed away and left me a little bit of money, which launched my debt repayment plan. Over the past eight years, I have paid off about $28,000 with my own blood, sweat and more than a few tears. I got really aggressive with my payment plan two years ago, and when I saw a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel this summer, I upped my financial game even more.
 
And a few days ago, VICTORY WAS MINE! Seeing a $0 balance on my banking app gave me a more euphoric high than the last time I actually got high almost nine years ago. Read more about that here.
 
This is not to say that I am totally debt free. I still have a car loan and mortgage, at very reasonable rates, thankyoubabyJesus. And then there’s the big, hairy grizzly — my student loans. That's a rant for another day. I will probably be dead before those are paid off. But hey, I successfully conquered one mountain of debt I never thought was possible, so there’s hope.
 
I mentioned earlier that I did not learn how to manage money from my parents. That’s not true. I learned how to do it badly. There were lean times when they lived off credit and did the balance transfer lambada more times than I can count during my childhood. My dad and stepmom are doing well these days, but my mom still struggles a bit. And let’s be frank, I don’t have a lot of savings, so I’m one household or health emergency away from being back in the hole. No judgment. We do what we have to do to get by.
 
But FINALLY, at 46 years old, I’ve figured out that one should not count credit card limits as disposable income. My No. 1 rule to live by today is: If I can’t pay cash, I ain’t buying it.
 
A couple of months ago, I was talking to my son, who is now 23, about how hard I’ve been working to get out of debt. To give him some perspective, I said, “Remember that trip we took to Disney World when you were nine? Yeah, I’m still paying for it.”
 
His eyes got as wide as saucers because shit got real. I’d love it if that warning keeps him from making the same mistakes I did, but who knows? I had walk through it to learn from it. But thank goodness, I finally did!!
 
I have to admit, I’m pretty proud of myself for breaking out of debtors’ prison of my own making. If I can do it, anyone can. It’s a hell of a lot of work, but the payoff (pun TOTALLY intended) is so worth it!

If strong is the new sexy, then nice is the new cool. If you are ever lucky enough to hear, “That was so nice of you!” you are winning at life.
 
Seriously, y’all. Mean people truly suck, and ain’t nobody got time for that. In a world where it seems like everyone is openly angry and hateful to each other, we need nice now more than ever.
 
To me, simply being kind to your fellow humans is more valuable than money, looks or power. While I admit to being easily sidetracked by all things shiny, wild and pretty when I was younger, now that I am in my 40s, the willingness or capacity to be nice is the single most essential quality I look for in a person — whether they are a client, service provider, friend or lover. Entitled assholes need not apply.

It’s really not that difficult.
 
Nice is returning your grocery cart. Nice is replying to an email even when the answer is no, so the other person isn’t left to wonder what they did wrong. Nice is staggering your stance at the gym so the person next to you has enough room to extend their arms on a chest fly.
 
Nice is smiling and making eye contact when you take a customer’s money — or when you’re the customer accepting your change. Nice is nodding a greeting to the dog owner walking their pooch on the other side of the street. Nice is picking up the phone to actually call a friend you haven’t seen in a while. Nice is texting to let someone know you’ll be late for coffee.
 
While they all might sound tiny and trivial, any one of those acts of kindness can make a huge difference.
 
I know all this, and yet …
 
While I am attracted to the nice in others, it is not my own personal default setting. Nope, I am not inherently nice. In fact, I am a major cynic. My first reaction is almost always a version of “What do you want?” or “Please go away.”
 
I never say those words out loud (OK, almost never), but my insides seize up and I mentally make myself as small as possible whenever I feel like someone is invading my space, physically or mentally.  
 
I am not by any means a horrible shitbird. Just like everyone else, I have my moments of true assholetry, but I am not an insensitive clod. I am pleasant, nice and considerate WAY more often than I’m not.
 
The thing is, it just doesn’t come naturally.

It’s probably more accurate to say that I don’t have a particularly welcoming demeanor. My body language is set on, “keep your distance,” and my synapses are more likely to fire up a glower than a smile, if left to their own devices.
 
I have to consciously work at being warm and cuddly. Well, warmer and cuddlier. Admittedly, it is much easier to be nice to people I care about, but even then, I have to pay attention to how I speak and act. I’ve been told I can exude a harsh vibe even when I’m in the best mood. Plus, my face does things I can’t control that mistakenly lead people around me think I am pissed off, when in fact, I am perfectly blissful or at the very least, neutral.
 
I don’t know precisely why I’m this way, though I’m sure a psychoanalyst would have a field day dissecting my twisted little brain.
 
I’ve definitely suffered fools and bad relationships over the past 20 years that contributed to my cynicism. I also spent a lot of energy attending to others’ needs while completely obliterating my own. Plus, I am an introvert (more on that here) who abhors idle small talk and is easily exhausted by too much peopling. All of these are likely factors as to why I tend to retreat instead of reach out.
 
In the past couple of years, I’ve begun to notice the stark contrast between how I navigate interpersonal communication and how other, intuitively nice people do. 
 
I’ve recently gotten to know a couple of women who radiate love. It emanates from them with every word and deed.  Both of these women are so … well … sweet. There is no other word for it. Their smiles wrap you up in a warm blanket of inclusion. You believe with all your heart that every word you say matters to them. They are surrounded by an aura of compassion and benevolence. A puffy little cloud of healing energy seems to follow them wherever they go.

But they will be the first to admit that life is not perfect, and neither are they. Shit happens to them, just like the rest of it. The difference is their attitude about it — it does not affect how they treat other people. I cannot always say the same.
 
After feeling the effects myself and observing how others respond to these amazing women, I realized something pretty huge for an old cynic — I want to be like them when I grow up. I want to instinctively offer a warm smile instead of a cool stare. I want people who spend time with me to feel like they matter. I really, really want NICE to be my default.
 
You know the saying, “If you do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always got.” I believe, and have seen in my own life, that anyone can change for the better. It all starts with willingness to do something different.
 
So that’s where I am. First, I am observing and emulating my new friends in how they treat people, because I have also been shown time and again that if you act "as if” long enough, a new action will become a habit.
 
I am also focused on learning all I can in the practice of Tibetan Buddhism.
 
Whoa, where did that come from, right?

That’s actually not new. I started studying meditation back in October because of some anxiety and unrest I had been experiencing related to early menopause. (I won’t torture you will the details today). It has softened not only my anxiety, but my overall approach to life. It has opened a door that I didn’t realize was locked up tight.
 
I recently decided to commit myself to not only meditation, but the practice of Buddhism itself. I took the Bodhisattva Vow, which is a formal, public commitment to Buddhist studies. I’m reading all I can, learning meditation techniques, rituals and prayers, and seeking out mentors.
 
At first, I was just hoping to get a glimpse of that proverbial inner peace (for real, tho), but now I can see another benefit. It offers a path to actually becoming a better, nicer person. Buddhist practice is largely built upon cultivating compassion and lovingkindness, so, you know, DUH.
 
Anyhoo. From what I have learned so far, Buddhism is a hybrid of religion and philosophy. There is no “God,” and you can practice its tenets in conjunction with other faith traditions. So you could be a Christian AND a Buddhist, if you wanted to. For me, Buddhism offers practical tools for living.
 
My point to all this is, I am not a warm and fuzzy person like my new girlfriends, but I’d like to be. If I am totally honest, though, my pursuit of nice is not entirely altruistic. Angry and cynical just does not feel good anymore. I can already tell that practicing kindness in all my interactions is thawing out my cold, cynic's heart.
 
I’m learning that the key to making nice my factory setting is to actively think of others (Buddhist speak: be mindful) in everything I do, and stop being so damn self-absorbed.
 
I’m also learning that nice does not equal weak. Being nice to your neighbor does not make you a doormat. In fact, the nicest people I know are also the strongest.
 
As with most anything worth doing, it’s simple, but not easy. So please be patient with me if you see me out, and I offer you a crooked smile or go in for awkward hug.
 
Nice does not come naturally to me, but someday, it just might.