Here’s what happened to me this summer. I turned 57. A shocking thing, mainly for its proximity to 60. Besides a few aches (my shoulder) and pains (the bottom of my feet!), I don’t feel 57. Yes, I have a few new tricks: I use a dab of red nail polish to indicate power switches (thank you Kate Hines), and sometimes I have to look on facebook to remember who my friends are. But my husband always counsels me not to fret about things beyond my control, and this certainly is. So, I’ve decided I’m going to own it. And, aside from the deepening creases and tummy bulge that won’t budge, it’s not so bad. I have work that I love, a full family and social life, and I’m physically active (more for my mind than body!). According to my daughter, I’m a workaholic; I’ve always pushed-pushed-pushed and wanted more-more-more out of myself, the various businesses I’ve had, and, yes, from family and friends, too. In honor of Self Improvement Month (who knew?), my goal for 57 is to cut myself (and those around me) some slack. I think it’s time, no? Because I’m looking forward to feeling 57 at 80. Read the entire newsletter here.