Somehow I got a bee in my bonnet to take on a full time job, after years of being a free agent. I got interviews. But likely those inviting me to showcase my edge didn't Google me. Otherwise they would have known I was in my 60s. As soon as I entered their office, well, you know: It was over.
In addition, Gawker, the iconoclastic site, flamed me. One of my crimes was being an old lady. I admitted I was indeed that on my three syndicated blogs.
As the cliche goes, whatever doesn't kill us makes us stronger. By bits and pieces I regrouped. Yes, I was old. Now what? One of my strategies was to seek out work that could be done in the background, instead of on the front lines which is represented by the youth culture. Another was being more negotiable about billing. A third was simply regaining my confidence.
What a happy ending this tale has. I did land a full time job. Since it's essentially telecommuting I can also take on freelance assignments. After all, the work contract only requires my being available and producing content from 9 to 5.
I have returned to trusting myself, just as I did when I was a young girl running wild on the mean streets of Jersey City, New Jersey. I had lost that hold on an inner self when the Sisters of Charity at Seton Hill College, Greensburg, Pennsylvania seemed to make it their mission to remold me in the image and likeness of whatever.
I have money, again. In about 15 months I won't have to wait for snail mail with credit-card balance-transfer offers. And, somehow by some gift from the universe I am finally over the profound grief of losing my trusty animal companion Molly Mittens 6.5 years ago. She's gone. She's not coming back.
On May 3rd, I will be 68. Thanks to the brutal rite of passage which accompanies the acceptance of aging I will head into my 70s as a totally confident professional woman. Maybe that's the Baby Boomer's version of Leaning In.