Don't waste time on jealousy. Sometimes you're ahe...

Like many women my age, I am 28 years old.

I couldn't have foreseen all the good things that have followed my mother's death. The renewed energy, the surprising sweetness of grief. The tenderness I feel for strangers on walkers. The deeper love I have for my siblings and friends. The desire to play the mandolin. The gift of a visitation.

Here's a thing about the death of your mother, or anyone else you love: You can't anticipate how you'll feel afterward. People will tell you a few may be close to right, none exactly right.

I don't feel old. I don't feel anything till noon. That's when it's time for my nap.

It takes a long time to become young.

Growing old is no more than a bad habit which a busy person has no time to form.

Old age is an excellent time for outrage. My goal is to say or do at least one outrageous thing every week.

I feel like a lot of the female relationships I see on TV or in movies are in some way free of the kind of jealousy and anxiety and posturing that has been such a huge part of my female friendships, which I hope lessens a little bit with age.

Jealousy is no more than feeling alone against smiling enemies.

It's amazing the clarity that comes with psychotic jealousy.

Anger and jealousy can no more bear to lose sight of their objects than love.