Month: July 2025

• My teen wanted to get a job at a camp this summer, so I helped her through the application process.
• She was unsure what to put down as skills and and who to list as references, so I guided her.
• Her experience helped her stand out among the 100 applicants we heard she was up against.

“I want to be a camp counselor next summer,” my 16-year-old daughter (now 17) proclaimed one day.

Luckily, she said this in December, just in time to start applying. From my own experience as a camp counselor at her age, I knew that most applications for this type of summer job are often due between January and March.

She set her sights on a familiar place

She decided to apply to the same camp she attended from age 8 to 11, a place she loved spending her summers. I let her know that her years as a camper there were valuable experience and something she should mention when she eventually filled out an application.

I guided her through the application process

Once she decided that this was the summer job she wanted to go for, I decided to help her figure out how to get it. First, I told her to search the name of the camp online along with the words “camp counselor application.” After finding it I asked her to check the deadline. It turns out I was right about the time frame, since it was due in early February.

At first, she was worried that she didn’t have any prior work experience, but I reassured her that camps often value leadership roles at school and participation in extracurricular activities. I also pointed out that her high GPA and academic awards could work in her favor. Plus, she did have experience looking after her younger cousins, which I assured her would count for something.

As she filled out the application, she asked me for feedback about which activities to include (she does a lot!). After some discussion, she decided to highlight that she founded and serves as president of her school’s environmental club, an activity that showed both her leadership skills and her love of the outdoors. Since the camp she applied to is an outdoor adventure camp that visits different parks, it felt like a perfect activity to feature.

When she got to the section for references, she had no idea what it meant or who to include. I explained that if the camp is considering her for the position, they will contact the people she lists and ask whether she is responsible, hardworking, and reliable. I suggested she include the teacher who oversees the environmental club, her karate sensei, and someone who has known her since preschool and now works at the recreation center where the camp is held.

I also explained that before listing someone as a reference, she needed to ask if they were willing to be one. At first, she was hesitant to include the person who works at the camp because they hadn’t interacted recently, and she felt nervous about reaching out. I told her that personal connections can sometimes help you get a job. Even though she wasn’t entirely convinced, she agreed to reach out and ended up including this person.

She got an interview

A few weeks after she submitted her application, she received an email from the camp asking to set up an interview. She was excited but admitted she was also a little nervous. Since she participates in musical theater, we decided to “role play” a mock interview using possible questions. She said our practice session helped her feel more confident and ready for the real thing.

Following her interview, she felt both excited and hesitant. The job seemed like a perfect fit, and they asked some of the questions we had practiced.

“I think you were right about the personal connection,” she explained. It turns out they mentioned the person during the interview. She was surprised that I was probably right. I don’t often hear “You’re right, Mom” so that was a win for me!

Even though she was clearly excited about the possible job and interview, she didn’t want to get her hopes up. “They told me there are over a hundred applicants, and most of them are older than me,” she said.

She got the job

Weeks passed without any word from the camp. Just when she thought she didn’t get the job, she received a packet in the mail confirming that she did. She was beyond excited to start her new position and I was happy our work paid off.

She just finished her third week as a camp counselor and loves it. Being outdoors in parks, interacting with other campers and counselors, and reliving her own camp days have made the experience fun. “I don’t even feel like it’s work,” she said to me.

I’m so happy that she found the perfect fit for a summer job. She loves it so much that I’m now wondering if maybe it’s time I start asking her for career advice.

• When my kids moved out, I wasn’t prepared for how unnerving the silence would feel.
• I spent years pouring into everyone else and had to relearn what brought me joy.
• Now, I’ve rediscovered my voice, embraced life over 50, and found a new kind of purpose.

For years, my life ran on a nonstop loop of various sporting events, travel to tournaments, and coordinating team dinners. My son and daughter both played travel sports. I was usually the team manager, organizing hotels, carpools, and group texts. Our weekends were booked for years. My house was the hub for prom, homecoming, and all the in-between moments. I worked, yes, and enjoyed it, but everything always came after my role as “Mom.”

Then one day, the house was quiet.

I thought I’d be ready for the empty nest phase. I had friends who raved about the freedom. But I wasn’t prepared for how unsettling it would feel.

When the noise stopped, the questions began

It’s not just that the kids were gone. It’s that everything that made our life feel full — the chaos, the laughter, the messy rooms, the mudroom full of shoes — was suddenly gone, too. I found myself lingering in the kitchen, waiting for someone to walk through the door. I missed the clutter. I missed the noise. I missed them.

And then I started missing me.

When you spend two decades being everything for everyone, it’s easy to forget who you are outside of that. I didn’t feel sad every day. I just felt like I was adrift. Untethered. Like I had checked all the boxes, and now I didn’t know what came next.

I had to slow down long enough to figure things out

Initially, I stayed busy because that was what I knew. But eventually, I ran out of things to organize. I no longer had to pack the car with chairs and coolers. There were no games, no events, no post-practice dinners — just space.

And it turns out that space makes you listen.

That’s when I started writing again. I remembered how much I loved telling stories — especially the stories of women like me who were figuring out this next chapter.

I still love the title “Mom,” but I’ve loosened my grip on it

Don’t get me wrong, I still love being a mom. But I’ve learned I can’t hold it the same way I used to. My adult kids don’t need a team manager. They need a sounding board. They need to know how to get their car repaired, which insurance to choose, or how to cook their favorite meal. They need space to grow. And I needed to realize that being a great mom now looks different from what it used to.

I no longer center my life around them. I cheer them on from the sidelines of their lives, but I’ve finally stepped onto the field of my own.

I started to live for myself

This isn’t a story of an impulsive reinvention. I didn’t sell everything and move across the world. But I did reinvent — quietly at first, then boldly. I let go of the version of me who only knew how to give. I started choosing things that lit me up.

I launched a podcast to spotlight women navigating life after 50, which has also become a regular television segment. I became a lifestyle expert on TV. I started writing professionally. I built a TikTok community from scratch, proof that midlife is not a slowdown, but a second wind.

The truth is, I never stopped being me. I just buried her under everyone else’s needs. And now, I’m carefully, and sometimes clumsily, unearthing her again.

I’m not chasing some youthful version of myself. I’m claiming the wisdom I’ve earned and the freedom I nearly forgot I had.

This isn’t the end of anything. It’s just the first time I’m living fully as me.

• We bought our dream mountain home just outside of Boulder, Colorado.
• It had stunning views from roof-height front windows and nearby hiking trails that our dog loved.
• We knew the risk of wildfires when we bought, but the scope of mitigation was larger than we thought.

When I first set foot inside, I knew it was special.

My partner and I had been living in a 1,150-square-foot home in Boulder, Colorado, enjoying a 2.75% interest rate, but we were feeling cramped.

We both worked from home and shared a tiny desk in our spare bedroom and a full-sized desk in our dining space. Dinner parties required creative planning, and we had no garage or basement for storage.

Then, one day, our realtor excitedly called us up. A house that checked nearly all of our boxes was just about to hit the market. She asked if we could come see it right away.

The neighborhood was comprised of sprawling land plots and spacious homes tucked into an impressive foothill, with a winding road connecting them. Our future house was at the very top.

As I stepped inside, I could see Boulder’s grasslands reach out toward the horizon through roof-height front windows. Take just a few steps into the backyard, and the craggy peaks of the Rocky Mountains poked into the sky.

It was true mountain living, but only a 10-minute drive to Boulder’s city limits. To us, it offered the best of both worlds: access to the community we loved, while gaining plenty of space to work remotely and feel connected with nature.

There was one major downside, though.

We’d have to factor wildfire risk into our day-to-day lives

Worsening drought conditions accelerated by climate change were leading to destructive, difficult-to-predict wildfires in the Western states, including Colorado’s Front Range.

Our realtor connected us with her friend, a retired fire department chief, and we walked the property together.

He pointed out the changes we would likely need to make: updating the roof with fire-resistant shingles, adding a gravel barrier, taking down trees, and keeping wild grasses trimmed.

He said to start by contacting a local nonprofit, Wildfire Partners, that assesses wildfire risks for homeowners.

So, after closing on our dreamy mountain home in the winter of 2022, we scheduled our assessment. Since Wildfire Partners would not come until spring, and our yard was blanketed in a protective layer of snow, we shelved our concerns for the first few months.

We faced a steep learning curve

We assembled mood boards on Canva, scoured vintage rug resellers, and shopped for the perfect leather couch to complete our dream living room.

Our houseplants thrived, and our sweet dog fell in love with the trails that started outside our front door.

As the springtime rolled in, we watched the evening thunderstorms roll over the plains. Some mornings, we even woke up above the clouds.

Mountain living wasn’t all rainbows, though. Upon moving in, we had a long list of tasks to complete. We needed to install a radon fan. Our well required treatment for T. coli (total coliform) contamination. Getting contractors to come out was a monumental task.

We also discovered that many of the seller’s renovations were hastily slapped together. We wondered what other corners he might have cut, and how much of our planned wildfire mitigation budget would have to go toward these unexpected fixes.

The scope of wildfire mitigation was larger than we expected

When the Wildfire Partners representative came out that spring, he tagged over 30 trees that we would need to cut down. His 17-page assessment also involved trimming ladder fuels and fireproofing our house’s exterior.

If and when we completed our wildfire mitigation checklist, Wildfire Partners would come back, verify the work, and issue a certification. They would also match up to $2,000 of arborist-related costs, but the rest would be on us to fund. The proposed scope of work would cost upwards of $50,000, or several thousand less if you were able to DIY some projects.

Our assessor assured us that most people take years to complete their checklists due to the time, money, and effort required. My partner and I debated our plan of approach and decided we would sleep better at night knowing we had taken all the necessary steps to protect our home.

A grassland fire put us on edge

That first (and only) summer in our dream home, we spent weekends working toward our certification. We felled dozens of trees, stacked logs, and gave them away. Friends pitched in, and a kind neighbor lent us chainsaws.

We trimmed the wild grasses that covered our hillside. We installed a gravel barrier around the house to reduce the likelihood of a stray ember landing and catching flame. We interviewed contractors for more complex projects, like installing roofing and ledge flashing.

It was hard work, but it was rewarding. Before we knew it, we were only a few list items away from earning our certification and feeling accomplished.

Then, one afternoon, a small wildfire broke out at the bottom of the neighborhood hill.

A neighbor told us that someone operating a weedwhacker had nicked a rock, and the resulting sparks had started a brush fire. I watched smoke curl over the ridge, and refreshed my neighborhood message board, anxiously waiting to find out if we needed to evacuate.

Fortunately, the firefighters acted swiftly, and the winds were not blowing that day, but this fire event brought back a devastating memory from just a few years prior.

On December 30, 2021, a grass fire in Boulder County transformed into a suburban firestorm, fanned by wind gusts of over 100 miles per hour. In a matter of hours, the Marshall Fire had claimed two lives and over 1,000 homes. People had minutes to evacuate. My partner and I read stories of neighbors knocking on doors to ensure no one was left behind, since there was no statewide alert system.

Wildfires are not only frightening because they are destructive. They are also infamously unpredictable. Just one ember—deposited by the wind onto a combustible ledge—could be the difference between avoiding disaster and losing your home.

That’s why our friends at Wildfire Partners were so stringent about handing out certifications. Details that could appear insignificant, such as decking gaps or the type of mesh covering your vents, actually make a big difference. There was also hope—but not a promise—that the mitigations would help keep homes like ours insured.

Insurance trends made us question our purchase

In 2024, the insurance landscape began to change. We heard through the neighborhood grapevine that a neighbor’s insurer had dropped them.

A friend in another part of the state also lost her coverage. Finally, we read that State Farm, our insurer, would no longer issue new home policies in California. Could Colorado be next?

It occurred to us that our safety net, which we paid thousands of dollars annually to secure, might not be there for us when we needed it.

We started wondering what would happen if we lost everything. Would our insurer provide us enough to rebuild in place? Would we even want to? And in the absolute worst-case scenario possible—if a fire broke out, would a neighbor rescue our dog if we were unable to get to her?

Over beers, the same neighbors who lent us yard tools recounted tales of their most recent evacuation. The 2020 CalWood Fire had burned over 10,000 acres. On their wall hung a framed photo of the blaze, which had ripped through the foothills just across the canyon and leveled 26 structures.

I was in awe of their casual attitude, but they revealed important truths. We cannot control nature, no matter how many preventative checklists we complete. Also, we are far from experiencing the worst impacts of climate change, especially as our government takes steps to halt climate action.

Committing to life in a wildland-urban interface would require acceptance and a come-what-may point of view on the matter of wildfires, which we weren’t sure we were up for.

We sold in 2024

Our life on the mountain was far from perfect, but it had become our home.

We looked forward to the wild irises and larkspurs blooming. We even felt fond of the wild band of turkeys that sometimes woke us up at 6 in the morning. Could we really leave it all behind?

Despite everything, we were not resting easily. No matter how much we enjoyed it in the present, we feared our dream home could not be insured or sold in the future. This is not a dealbreaker for our neighbors, who plan to spend the rest of their lives in this special place—come what may. It doesn’t matter because they are in their forever homes.

As it turned out, we were not in ours.

Our trusty realtor listed our dream home in the spring, and by summer, it closed. Although we came out in the red, we exhaled a massive sigh of relief. A few days after closing, a wildfire broke out in South Boulder, and I told that familiar pang of fear to take a hike.

For those willing to accept the risk, our former mountain home is a magical place to live. We just weren’t those people.