It’s been nearly twelve years since I lost my second husband. In the early years, I made a very conscious decision: I was going to focus on family and raising my kids as a single parent. Dating wasn’t even on the radar. The idea of bringing someone new into my life felt… impossible. Not wrong. Not scary. Just impossible.
Eventually, as the years went on and life settled into a different kind of normal, I floated the idea of “possibly being potentially open to dating.” That was my exact wording. I wasn’t committing to anything. I was simply acknowledging the door existed. That experiment resulted in three dates — three individual attempts that went nowhere. Either they weren’t ready, or I wasn’t. Honestly, I think it was both.
But something has shifted in me lately. The “possibly being potentially open” version of me has started to fade, and a new version has been whispering, “I think I’m ready.”
So there you go, Universe.
Do with that what you will.
The Difference Between Knowing and Feeling
I’ve always known my capacity to love didn’t end when I lost my husbands. When I met my second husband, I learned that firsthand. Losing someone doesn’t erase the love you’re still capable of giving. It doesn’t hollow you out permanently. If anything, it widens you.
So knowing I could love again wasn’t the issue.
Feeling ready? That’s something else entirely.
What we know and what we feel are often two very different languages.
Knowing is logical.
Feeling is visceral.
Knowing says, “You’re capable.”
Feeling says, “You’re willing.”
And when those two finally meet — that’s where the magic happens.
The Honest Fears Behind Readiness
Part of my resistance came from very real fears, ones I didn’t always want to say out loud.
I’ve been single for a long time. Long enough to get used to my routines, long enough to structure life around myself and my kids, long enough to enjoy the solitude without questioning it. And in the back of my mind, I told myself a story about being too set in my ways, too established in my rhythms, too used to doing life alone.
There was also the quiet belief that being nearly 60 somehow put me in a different category — especially in a community where youth is often treated like currency. I told myself I was invisible. Prehistoric. No longer on anyone’s radar.
Until, recently, I started noticing something surprising:
Some people actually saw me.
Not my age.
Not my history.
Not the boxes I’d put myself in.
Me.
Kind, attentive, genuinely interested people who weren’t intimidated by my life or my losses. People who were attracted to who I am now, not who I used to be. People who introduced me to more facets of myself than I was aware of. People who reminded me, without trying, that maybe my assumptions about myself weren’t the whole story.
It’s about perception versus reality.
I’ve written about that before — how the stories we tell ourselves aren’t always true.
And here it was again, showing up in my own life.
O — Opening a New Chapter
In the PURPOSE framework, the “O” stands for Open a New Chapter. It’s one thing to teach that. It’s another thing entirely to live it.
Opening a new chapter doesn’t mean closing the old ones.
It doesn’t mean forgetting.
It doesn’t mean replacing.
It means acknowledging that your heart has room for more than one story.
Readiness isn’t the absence of fear.
It’s the willingness to feel the fear and walk toward possibility anyway.
What This Shift Has Taught Me
This isn’t a proclamation that I’ve found someone.
This isn’t a declaration of romance or certainty.
This isn’t a grand announcement.
It’s quieter than that.
And honestly, more profound.
It’s the awareness that I am no longer protecting myself from possibility.
It’s the realization that companionship isn’t some distant, unimaginable concept.
It’s the understanding that I don’t have to talk around the idea anymore — that I can say “I’m ready” without flinching.
It’s the alignment of knowing and feeling.
The head and the heart are finally on the same page.
Your Turn
Maybe this isn’t about dating for you.
Maybe your next chapter has nothing to do with love or relationships.
Maybe it’s about allowing yourself to want something again — joy, connection, purpose, community, change, creativity.
The question is the same for all of us:
Where might you be more ready than you realize?
It’s time to start looking at your life with open eyes, and find the life that’s waiting for you.
What belief have you carried that deserves to be reexamined?
What expectation of yourself might no longer be true?
What possibility have you dismissed because it once felt impossible — even though it might not be anymore?
Your knowing and your feeling won’t always align at the same time.
But when they finally do, something opens.
Something expands.
Something shifts.
Pay attention to that moment.
It’s telling you something important.
