This was not the plan

I just had a good chuckle, reading this blog’s “About” page, which I penned in early 2022. Back then, I had two kids in college (they’ve now graduated), and I was waxing on about having my wings clipped because I had ankle and hip surgeries scheduled later in the year. Who knew I’d take a longer break from far-flung travel than I initially planned?

I know the cool thing to do these days is to start a Substack newsletter to keep readers/fans/friends informed and engaged. But the thought of initiating anything new right now is utterly exhausting, so I’m dusting off “Life Here and There” to a) see if I remember how to write and b) share to see if anything resonates with my friends out there, near and far.

Here’s a not-so-brief catch-up on what’s up with me — and what’s keeping me up at night lately.

Grief is freaking hard

My mom died in February 2025. To say that upended my life and my mental state is an understatement. My mother was extraordinary. She was patient and loving and nonjudgemental. Her smile lit up a room. She had a fabulous sense of humor. She loved to sing and dance and travel. She loved life.

Mom found the joy, always. Every. Single. Day.

This blog’s tagline — “finding joy, wherever you are” — spoke to her. So much so, she asked for a JPG of the logo and had it printed and framed, which she hung in her cottage on New Hampshire’s Lake Winnipesaukee. (Oh, who am I kidding; she took a screenshot of the home page, and tried to print it herself, and when I found it, fuzzy, I printed a clear, properly sized image for her.)

Mom was so private about her health that even now she’s gone, I’m hesitant to talk much about her medical issues. Her closest friends and family members didn’t know she was diagnosed with heart failure in the summer of 2022. (Heck, I didn’t find out until the spring of 2023, when I found a brochure titled “What to Know about Heart Failure” on her coffee table.)

Without getting mired in details, I noticed my mom’s health declining in May of 2024. That’s when I volunteered to be her Fly Girl — accompanying her on her plane trips between her homes in California and New Hampshire. She gradually let me help her with some of her financial and medical concerns. I was spending a lot of time on either coast — away from my Colorado home base. Save for a stellar 25th anniversary round-the-world adventure that included 12 nights in the Maldives (!!!) in July 2024, I put a hard stop on international travel.

Similarly, Quent and I realized that long RV trips were no longer in our near future. Given that our April 2024 RV trip was rather chaotic, we decided to sell our beloved motorhome. Our final voyage in CC was a trip to Palm Desert, California — mom’s winter home, where we consigned her at an RV dealership there. I was so sad to see CC go — legit shed some tears — but it made perfect sense not to hang on to such a money suck when we knew we weren’t going to travel cross-country with her anytime soon. This won’t be the end of our RV adventures, though! I have every intention of someday renting an RV to do a grand Pacific Northwest national parks trip.

About the same time we recognized CC had to go, I realized there was no way I could be on hand for mom’s medical emergencies, accompany her on cross-country flights (and other fun trips she had planned), help her maintain her bicoastal homes, AND balance writing and editing deadlines. I filed my last freelance invoice in December 2024.

In the past several years, much has changed in the freelance/content-creator landscape. That’s an entire blog post in itself. I noted some points, in particular regarding travel writing, in this LinkedIn post, written when I’d just stopped pitching travel stories, but before I cut the cord on all freelance writing/editing gigs.

I have zero regrets

Turns out, slowing down with work and then retiring altogether was a godsend. I was privileged to have been able to have spent so much quality time with my mother in the year before she died. That was a true gift.

When Mom went into the hospital in California for a “minor procedure” to fix a faulty heart valve in early February 2025, she ended up needing emergency open-heart surgery. I was able to spend every day in the hospital with her for two weeks before she was transferred home (at her wish) to take her last breath on this earth.

It is difficult to fully explain how surreal her stint in the hospital was. My job was to act as her advocate, ensuring we both understood what was happening with all the blood draws, procedures, and therapies. In short, it was heartbreaking, exhausting, and scary. But at the same time, on good days, Mom and I were able to laugh at the nonsense (“How in the heck did this happen and what are we doing here?!”) We had heartfelt conversations. We prayed together with gentle hospital chaplains (who truly do God’s work, and I’m not a religious person). We sang. We made up a silly “name the location” game for the nature scenes that cycled through her hospital room’s TV screen.

I firmly believe Mom didn’t die on the operating table so that we could have those two special weeks together. She chose to leave this earth the way she wanted to — not hooked up to machines, not poked and prodded — at peace, surrounded by loved ones.

Mom and I said everything we needed to say to one another. And for that, I’m grateful.

Fast forward to today

In the six-plus months since Mom passed away, I’ve been settling her estate and executing her will. There’s nothing that could have prepared me for this role. As if hiring private end-of-life nurses and selecting a mortuary weren’t enough, WAY too much adulting has been required to meet with mom’s financial advisors, transfer assets, close accounts, and go through her personal effects (in two homes), to name just a few tasks involved with “the business of death.” It’s been months of feeling overwhelmed, annoyed, frustrated, and, of course, sad. It’s a LOT.

That said, there is light at the end of the tunnel. I chose to live on my mom’s NH property from May to October to enjoy a “last hurrah” with visiting family and friends (with still more to come). That has been extraordinary. I now fully understand why Mom wanted to keep traveling back and forth between California and NH — even when it might have been in the best interests of her health to pick one home and stick with it. Her little slice of paradise on Lake Winnipesaukee is remarkable in the summer months.

Having grown up in New Hampshire and taken my kids annually to Grammie’s lakehouse since each was a few months old, I’m quite sad to say goodbye to her NH property. It’s the end of an era, and this change is hard. Bittersweet, for sure, since I’m simultaneously looking forward to closing this chapter when I hand the keys over to others this fall. (Conflicted feelings = hard to quiet the mind!)

So what’s next?

When I launched this blog back in 2020, my husband and I were on a quest to spend some time in warm-weather climes to find a place we’d be excited about snowbirding in for several years. We sampled Sayulita, San Pancho, and Chacala, Mexico, and none fit the bill for a “We absolutely must return here every season” type of place. We even spent three weeks in Thailand, mostly in Ko Samui, but we determined that Southeast Asia, despite its climate and ocean temperature that my husband adores, is just too far from our kids.

It seems Palm Desert, California, has chosen us — for a while, anyway.

Last winter, when I realized how much time I’d be spending with my mom — attending doctors’ appointments and such — Quent and I put an offer on a small house in my mom’s 55+ community, literally around the corner from the house she was living in. We figured Mom had at least a few more years of good living in Palm Desert. (If push came to shove, I’d think she would have chosen her home in California year-round; it’s just a better set-up with physicians, single-level houses, assisted-living options, and warm weather, better suited for older folks).

Here’s the irony: We closed on that little house literally on the day my mother passed away.

Yes, we could have pulled out of the deal, or we could have decided to rent it out. But after copious renovations to make it more livable, we really fell in love with the cozy little spot, and we’ve decided to spend the next couple of winters there.

I do not think this is our dream winter destination. Our ultimate is somewhere closer to an ocean. But for now, it works.

We got a taste of the snowbird life and retirement community living, and it’s not awful, by any means. Trust me, we are making the most of our life in what’s been called “summer camp for grownups.” We bought a fire-red golf cart that we can drive through the secret gate to the next-door shopping center (Walgreens, a grocery store, two restaurants/bars, an ice cream shop, a nail salon: I basically never have to leave campus). We’re learning pickleball (we’ll see if my joints hold up!). We attend weekly yoga classes, where the club president is an incredible 90 years old (!!!). I bike on flat roads to the fitness center and swim laps at the indoor pool. We’ll join the hiking club this winter. (Yes, there is a club for everything, from genealogy to bocce to ceramics to mahjong.)

Of course, I’m not me without a little angst

Overall, despite a very tumultuous several months, life is good. It’s better than good — especially as I tie up many of the loose ends concerning the “business of death.”

My current conundrum: I thought I’d be spending at least another year, if not two or three, tending to my mother. Instead, soon, I will have a ridiculous amount of time on my hands. And I have no idea what to do with it.

(I recognize my privilege is on full display right now. Please bear with me — or feel free to stop reading!)

While I don’t have to work, and I prefer not to be tied down to an office (or hotel or airport) job, I am also not sure I want to hang my freelance shingle again. The media landscape has wildly changed in recent years, and well-paying freelance work (that I’d enjoy) is not necessarily plentiful or available at the drop of a hat. It would require a lot of networking to find again. (Remember, I’m tired. I do not embrace the hustle I did even two years ago. But if any readers have ideas/opportunities, let me know! Writing and editing is all I’ve ever done professionally, and I do miss it.)

I am no stranger to volunteer work; some of my most satisfying contributions have been to my kids’ schools (where I helped out with social media and communications for six years) and our local education foundation. But I haven’t really found (or looked too hard) for a community engagement to take on now. I’m eyeing a winter volunteer opportunity to drive my Palm Desert neighbors to medical appointments and on other errands; I was going to do just that for my mom, so I might as well help others with no family nearby.

I told a friend that I need more hobbies (outside of just exercising). She joked I could come over and pick through her cupboards that house supplies for some of the creative activities she’s sampled over the years, from photography to decoupage to watercolors. I suppose if I’m going to try my hand at a different type of creative endeavors, our retirement community, home to multiple art studios and low-priced lessons, is the place to do it. Watch this space for my efforts in jewelry making or sculpting…

Lord knows I have enough house projects that could keep me busy for a while. Despite having purged belongings repeatedly over the years, my Colorado basement could still use some clean-up. I want to overhaul my son’s childhood bedroom into a more pleasing guest room. We still need to spruce up our patio in Palm Desert. While these are projects are fulfilling — I do like getting shit done — they’re not what makes me want to wake up and hop out of bed with vigor in the morning.

I know I’m not the only person in this stage of life who’s pondering a new direction. My friend Anne Taylor Hartzell penned a book to help people like us navigate this space. (Anne, I haven’t made much headway with “All Who Wander: A Guide to Finding Your Path in Seasons of Change,” but it’s bedside!)

I have returned to regularly reading fiction in recent weeks. I realized how much Netflix binging I was doing when the grief hit hard (scary), so I got myself a local NH library card and have thoroughly enjoyed marking books off my Goodreads “Want to Read” list. (I also welcome recommendations here: I like mysteries and thrillers, some historical fiction, basically most bestsellers like “Lessons in Chemistry” and “All the Colors of the Dark.”)

My bodywork therapy guy (I’m sampling Tui Na — the jury’s still out) suggested I just needed to be “kind and gentle” to myself and not set up too many expectations for what’s next. He said I should deem this Kara’s “self-care era.” I had to laugh. I don’t think he realized I’ve been the queen of self-care for decades. When I was feeling overwhelmed with a toddler and a two-month-old, my husband came home from work one day, and I said, “I just booked myself a massage and hotel room for the night in Beaver Creek. You’re on the kids.”

Speaking of, I for sure want to travel in the coming decades — and stay healthy enough doing it. I still have a dozen continental national parks to visit. I’ve become obsessed with traveling for all of the future total solar eclipses, so Mallorca (!!!!) is on tap for summer 2026. I want to go to Wimbledon someday…

What say you?

Just typing this up has been therapeutic. It’s been a while since I’ve shared online like I did when I was regularly publishing articles and essays (and especially when I co-owned The Vacation Gals — lordy, that was a fun time). While that era of blasting everything on the internet is likely over and done for me (again, I’m tired; I have no energy to keep up with today’s influencers), I miss those connections with like-minded peeps whom I’ve met via travel writing, blogging, and social media.

I sure welcome comments and dialogue if anything I’ve written about resonates. Watching parents age and helping them through their own transitions is HARD. I’ve lived it firsthand, and I’m happy to share more of my journey (and be a sounding board) for anyone going through it. I don’t know many people my age (mid-50s) who aren’t navigating this phenomenon, whether it’s assisting their folks with handling medical issues, dealing with cognitive changes, or relocating to a simpler living situation. You are not alone!

Thanks for listening.