Sample 1 from the book
All right, let's get this out of the way. The first time I realized, without a doubt, I was getting older—not just "another birthday" older, but "my body is staging a rebellion" older—was, of all places imaginable, at my favorite amusement park alongside my brother Jesse.

     Now, my three brothers and I absolutely lived for rollercoasters. The bigger, the faster, the more likely to rearrange your internal organs, the better. So, there we were, Jesse and I. We made a beeline for The Dragon, our all-time favorite. I was about 42 at the time, Jesse a comparatively spry 40. The Dragon chugged up that massive first hill, and then... whoosh! We plunged down, hit the first curve, and out of nowhere, I felt like a human pinball. My head snapped, my body slammed from side to side... My first coherent thought? "This stupid ride is BROKEN!"

     But of course, being risk-takers—and seeing no line—we naturally went again. The result? Same pinball action. Same neck-whipping. As we staggered off, Jesse clutching his neck, I declared, "Something is seriously wrong with The Dragon. It's definitely broken. I've never felt like that riding it." He groaned, "I know, my neck is killing me!"

     We limped over to The Classic, a tamer wooden coaster. Surely, this would be fine. We zipped up and down, but when I got off, I could barely walk. I was sore—in places I didn’t even know had places. And that, my friends, was the moment the giant, creaking, slightly rusty lightbulb flickered on: "Oops. The rollercoaster isn’t broken. I am." Well... not broken, exactly—just recalibrating. In an instant, it hit me: I was getting old...

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Sample 2 from the book

Surrendering with (a Little) Dignity

Speaking of waving flags, let’s talk about surrendering to aging with dignity. Or at least trying to. One day, while sitting in a fast-food driveway with my husband, an absolutely stunning young girl walked by. Her hair was blowing in the wind like a shampoo commercial—shiny, effortless, and defying gravity. Add to that perfect skin, an amazing body, and a set of dazzling teeth—the whole shebang. I had to have a serious talk with myself, right there in the car.

     “Kitty Mae,” I said, “you had your time to shine. Now it’s their time. Let these young women have their moment. Quit trying to compete.”

     The truth is, they don’t need my permission; they’re going to shine regardless. There are few things sadder than watching someone struggle to cling to youth instead of embracing the beauty of their current stage of life.

     BUT—and this is a big but—you have no idea how hard it would be for me, if I had unlimited funds (which I most certainly do not), to refrain from marching into a plastic surgeon’s office and saying, “Give me everything on the menu! The deluxe package! I’ll take the new teeth, eyes, nose, lips, butt, boobs... heck, might as well throw some ears in there too!” Well, maybe not the butt—God blessed me there, so that’s one win for me. And He gave me pretty decent hair, so that’s two! Thank you, Mama!...

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