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(0:00 - 0:36)
I want to share about my flight home from a publishing convention in St. Paul, Minnesota this past week. I was feeling inspired, overwhelmed, and honestly, a little emotional. You see, my 68th birthday was the very next day, and somewhere over the clouds, this song on my pump-up list started to play.
It's by Super Chick called This Is The Time, which has become my life anthem. This one verse in the song hit me hard. It goes like this.
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This is the story of your life, a movie starring you. What's the next scene have for you to do? Leave the dishes in the sink. Leave your fear there, too.
Live the story you would write for you. And I just sat there in my seat thinking, wow, because that lyric took me right back three years ago to the day I was sitting at my dining room table, looking at the view outside my window, watching an eagle soar across the lake, squirrels chasing each other across the rocks, and the sun making the water sparkle like diamonds. I was about to turn 65, and I remember feeling this ache in my chest, this quiet voice in me whispering, I don't want to die with regrets.
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I didn't want to reach the end of my life without at least trying the things that had been tugging at my heart for decades. For me, that meant two things, writing children's books and starting a podcast. I didn't have a clue at the time how to do either of those things, but I had something stronger than fear.
I had purpose, and that changed everything. And here's the thing. I didn't make that decision because I felt brave.
I made it because I felt desperate. I was tired of waiting, of watching everyone else pursue their dreams while I stayed in the background. And deep down, I kept thinking, what if I actually tried? Welcome to the Lessons for Life with Grandma K podcast.
Each week, I share stories, reflections, and gentle guidance to help you navigate life's relationships, especially the ones that start with yourself. I'll discuss topics such as setting healthy boundaries, finding your voice, and working through everyday conflicts with kindness and courage. These aren't just skills.
They're the building blocks of self-esteem and can help you live with more clarity, confidence, and heart. New episodes drop every Thursday, so hit that follow button and join me on this journey. And hey, if something here speaks to you, leaving a quick review helps others find it too.
Like a lighthouse, steady and strong, let's shine a little brighter today. There's also a line in that same song that still gives me goosebumps. You can find a million words to build a wall of fear safe behind that wall imprisoned here.
Take that someday step today to who you're meant to be and turn your dreams to plans so you can breathe. That line, turn your dreams to plans so you can breathe, it hit me like a ton of bricks because that was me. I was building a wall with my excuses.
I was hiding behind someday. And honestly, the more I thought about how few years I might have left, the more emotional I got. So I promised myself, I don't know how long I have, but I'm going to try.
Even if I fail, even if no one reads my books or listens to my voice, I will try for myself, for the kids I want to help, and for the life I still have left to live. Three years later, here I am. I've made a ton of mistakes.
I've spent more money than I want to admit. And believe me, there have been moments I've wanted to quit. So many.
What's the point? Who's going to care? And now YouTube? Really? But every time I hit that wall, I come back to my why. The kids, parents, and grandparents. All of us are trying to raise kind, confident humans in a world that's moving way too fast.
And listen, none of this came easily. Saying yes to myself meant unlearning a lot. Decades of self-limiting beliefs, patterns, and habits that kept me stuck.
So today, on my 68th birthday, I want to share seven things I've learned and unlearned since I stopped waiting. These are the lessons I tell my younger self. These are the reminders I give myself on those hard days.
Time is precious, but panic doesn't help. Turning 65 lit a fire in me. I remember feeling like, okay, it's now or never.
I had this long list. Write the books, start the podcast, build a website, figure out microphones, SEO, branding, all of it. And I wanted it done yesterday.
But panic is a terrible motivator. It makes everything feel heavier. I started rushing, pushing, and burning out.
So I had to learn to slow down. I had to remind myself that purpose doesn't live in the panic. It lives in inner peace.
Now, I still feel urgency, sure. But I'm not chasing time anymore. I'm honoring it, one calm step at a time.
And two, our thoughts shape reality. For years, I told myself I wasn't tech savvy, that I was too old to start something new, and that other people were meant for this kind of thing, and I wasn't. But those were just old stories I'd repeated for so long that I started believing them.
And one day I thought, what if that's not true? What if the only thing standing between me and this new chapter was what I believed about myself? So I started paying attention to those thoughts, and slowly, slowly replacing them with something softer, something kinder. Not, I've got this every day, but I'm willing to try. That one shift opened up everything.
And the third thing I learned was boundaries are a form of self-respect. Let me tell you, this one took a while. I used to say yes to everything, every ask, every invitation, every can you just, because I didn't want to hurt anyone else's feelings.
But every time I said yes, when I didn't want to, I was also saying no to myself. At some point, I realized that I needed space, energy, and peace for my work. So I started setting little boundaries, quiet ones, not dramatic.
And honestly, it changed everything. Boundaries didn't make my life smaller. They made it lighter.
And I've never looked back. People-pleasing held me back more than failure ever could. There's this thing about the nice one, right? Always agreeable, always showing up, always putting everyone else first.
But I'll be honest. Sometimes I did it because I was scared that I wouldn't be liked if I didn't, or loved, or needed. I've learned this.
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When I please others at the expense of myself, everybody loses. I end up tired, resentful, and disconnected from my purpose. So now, I check in with myself.
I ask, is this a true yes or a fear-based yes? And I permit myself to disappoint other people. Because I'd rather disappoint them than abandon myself. And five, I stopped hiding behind others and found my voice.
For years, I stayed in the background. I supported everyone else's dreams. And I kept mine tucked away.
Part of me thought, who am I to take up space? And the other part thought, what if I try and people roll their eyes? But the turning point came when I realized it's not about perfection. It's about being present. So I started putting myself out there, asking libraries and bookstores to support me and getting rejected.
I attended conventions, not knowing a soul, but making new friends and business relationships. My voice was shaking and my hands were sweating. But I showed up.
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And I found that the more I use my voice, the stronger it becomes. Not louder, stronger, truer, more grounded. I learned the journey is the reward.
I used to imagine this moment. I'd wake up one day and feel like I'd made it. Like I'd be confident and calm and done with all the self-doubt.
But it doesn't work like that. What I've learned is that life is not a finish line. It's this winding, beautiful, painful, ridiculous, sacred process of becoming.
And now I find joy in the small stuff. The email from a parent who says, my child, love your book. The moment I figure out how to do something techie all by myself.
A cup of tea after I finished editing a podcast. That's the real success. Feeling proud of who I'm becoming.
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And number seven, imposter syndrome doesn't mean you're not ready. It means you're growing. You know what? I still get it.
That little voice that says, who do you think you are? It sneaks in when I'm recording, when I'm posting, when I'm putting myself out there in ways I never used to. But now I know. Imposter syndrome isn't just fear dressed up as protection.
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It shows up because I'm doing something new. Something brave. And I've learned that courage doesn't mean you're fearless.
It means you do it anyways. Even if your hands shake and your voice wobbles. Because you matter.
Your work matters. And the world needs what you've got. Even if you're still figuring it out as you go.
I've made a lot of mistakes. I've had days when I cried at my computer, felt overwhelmed by technology, or wondered if I should just quit. I've battled fear, imposter syndrome, and my perfectionism.
But you know what else? I've published five children's books, with two more on the way. I launched a podcast. I didn't know how to create it, but I learned as I went, and downloads doubled in one year.
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My books are now on the shelves at the Huntsville Library, a moment I once only dreamed of. I traveled to a publishing convention alone, connected with fellow authors, and I felt I truly belonged. I've done all this not because I had it all figured out, but because I started.
Because I said yes to myself. Because I permitted myself to try. And somewhere along the way, another verse from that song landed deep in my soul.
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Ask anyone whose time is up what they'd give for what you've got, and how they'd live your life. Live like your life's worth dying for. You've just walked out that prison door, and you'll know how to live your life.
That lyric stopped me in my tracks, because I realized I have time. I have breath. I have a purpose.
And you know what? That's enough. That's enough for me to keep going. That's enough for me to keep trying.
That's enough for me to keep showing up, even when I don't feel ready. It's not too late. Not for me, and not for you.
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And if you're still breathing, you still have time to step toward the thing that's calling you. This may be your sign to stop waiting. Stop apologizing.
Stop asking for permission. The chorus of that song is, this is the time to try. Step out.
Your life is waiting. And as you fall, you'll find that you can fly. Try.
Fly. You'll be amazed at where it takes you, and wherever you are on your journey, you're not too late. If this episode has motivated you, hit follow for more life lessons from Lessons for Life with Grandma Kate.
And if no one has told you lately, everything will be okay. Tomorrow is a new day, and with it comes new hope. There is always time to rewrite your family story.
Break free from patterns that no longer serve you, and create a home filled with love, understanding, and wavering support. I'm here to guide you every step of the way. As I conclude this episode, I must state that this podcast is designed solely for educational and entertainment purposes.
While I bring my experience as a parent and grandparent, it's essential that you know, I am not a licensed therapist. This podcast is not a substitute for professional advice from a physician, professional coach, psychotherapist, or other qualified professional. Got it? Awesome.
Until next time, what is one thing you are grateful for?
(Transcribed by TurboScribe.ai. Go Unlimited to remove this message.)
