Chapter 13 - The Someday Club
We called it the Someday Club.
It started with six women.
Then twelve.
Then thirty.
No complicated mission.
Once a month, women met and talked about one thing they had postponed.
Travel.
Painting.
Education.
Friendships.
Rest.
Some dreams were expensive.
Others cost nothing.
One woman wanted to see the ocean.
Another wanted to learn piano.
Another wanted to spend one entire Sunday without cooking for anyone.
We didn't tell women to abandon their families.
We reminded them they belonged inside their own lives too.
Macy managed the online group.
Daniel handled basic financial organization.
I mostly made coffee.
Within a year, thousands of people followed our page.
Messages arrived from everywhere.
One said:
I took my first afternoon off in eleven years.
Another:
I told my adult children they need to ask before dropping off the grandchildren.
Another:
I'm seventy-three and just enrolled in painting classes.
I read every message I could.
Then one arrived that made me cry.
It was from a diner waitress.
She was fifty-eight.
She had worked double shifts for decades.
Her children were grown.
She had never traveled.
She wrote:
I saw your story and realized I was waiting for somebody to give me permission to live.
I stared at those words.
Then I wrote back:
You don't need permission.
I wished someone had told me that at forty.
Or fifty.
But maybe sixty-five wasn't too late.
May you like
Maybe it was exactly on time.
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