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Found the above on Fillyjonk.

Monday already - I'm worn out from the weekend. Not nearly as stiff as I thought I'd be, though. Maybe I'm getting back into shape, despite myself.

When I was younger, say my kids' age (early 20s) I used to think that by the time I was in my 40s I'd have life if not totally under control, at least figured out. My kids would be grown, (and they are) I'd be established in a career, I'd have a nice home and some money in the bank, we'd travel and it'd be time to enjoy the fruits of our marital labors. And then cancer happened, and here I am at 45, facing not only being 45 but being 45 and starting my life over - and I've been somewhat in denial about what that entails. Well, not denial, exactly - but procrastinating about addressing some of the things in my life that aren't what I want for myself.

It's not like I volunteered to be in this position, I was shoved into widowhood just like I was drafted into caregiving. There's a certain amount of tired resentment that goes along with having to start your whole damn life over in your 40s, when it seems like every other woman you know is looking forward to a peaceful and comfortable empty nest phase, taking nice vacations, etc. Meanwhile, I, in my 40s, am in somewhat the same position as my 20 year old daughter - trying to figure out what I'm going to be next.

There are things I definitely wanted/needed to do, like change jobs and refinance the house, and I got 'em done, and that was good and now it's a done deal, but the things that are somewhat more "optional" have been procrastinated. The habit of thinking "One of these days I really should..." - born during the caregiver years, is a mighty comfortable one - yes, I really should lose the next 20 pounds, I really should clean out the garage, I really should (insert procrastinated task here). One of these days I'd like to.... It's so easy to just sit and knit and think about the things I really should get around to doing one of these days.

I had somewhat of an epiphany this weekend, as I was ripping out a few thousand six inch tall golden raintrees, and raking up a few hundred pounds of leaves, twigs, dried blossoms, snakeskins and things I'd rather not examine too closely. The future is here, this is it, and if I sit on my ass and knit and pretend I'm still under some sort of constraints that prevent me from doing whatever I want, I'm wasting it. Yard work was so supremely satisfying yesterday - not because I really like it, I can't stand it, but because that yard was a symbol of the many things I've procrastinated over the past couple of years, it has been sitting out there getting more and more overgrown and neglected-looking, one of those unpleasant tasks I knew I had to face but kept putting off, and yesterday I finally got out there and made a start on transforming it into something appropriate for my new life. God knows what that new life will turn out to be at this point, but it feels good to actively get out there and start digging for it. Because Someday is here.