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When the first freeze of winter hit, I pulled out my flannel PJs and found only one mismatched pair, which had a long-gone, elastic waistband. They were given to me almost 20 years ago. I did the math and realized that my next pair may well outlive me. So, I purchased these, so I’ll look cute in case I die in my sleep! They’re splashed with hearts and have four pockets, crucial for holding all my dreams.
Saying they may be my last pair is not being macabre but merely practical. Each year, as some aspect of my being dims, droops, or drops off, I must constantly re-assess my options: If I’m nervous driving at night, I Uber. If I’m hesitant traveling alone, I invite a pal. Besides, when ice cream looks more like a slow drip for type 2 diabetes than a treat, it’s clear I’m not a kid anymore.
In fact, it’s my birthday! The reason 60 will never be ‘the new 40’ is not because plastic surgery hasn’t advanced but because the brain itself has had 20 years to change along with it. Our brain changes four times during our lifespan with the final shift occurring at age 83. Besides, I recently stumbled over a shadow that wasn’t there only to run smack into a curb that was! No amount of facelifts can compensate for an aging step.
Recently, a client complained, “Getting old isn’t fair. Just when I fall in love, I’m too decrepit to do anything about it.” He’s right. (He’s also 10 years younger than me.) Nothing is fair. We are all disadvantaged. Whether it’s the way we come into life, the tragedies that befall us while we’re here or the natural decline that descends with time. (Cool fact: when the future feels shorter, we’re more likely to break the law! I keep bail money under the floor mat of my car just in case.)
Remember the parable of the empty cup? Dump out your preconceptions so you have room for what might be poured into you? I would add: Don’t compare yourself to others. You have no clue what their story is–even if you ask them. Savor what you have and don’t fret about what you don’t. Norman Maclean said, “Eventually, all things merge into one and a river runs through it.” I figure if I make 83 in these PJ’s there’s no telling what might be just beyond the bend.
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–MITCH JACKSON, LAWYER, AUTHOR, SPEAKER
Given the events this week, I was not going to post, but Jackson’s eloquent wisdom gnawed at me. By now, you’ve seen the videos of Renee Good, the young mother of three shot dead by ICE agent Jonathan Ross, as she attempted to leave a protest in Minneapolis. Only seconds before, she rolled down her window, gave Ross a big smile, and said, “It’s OK, dude. I’m not angry with you!” He, however, pointed his gun straight at her and fired three shots into her face.
There is not a single, intelligent person who can look at the videos, (including the one Ross recorded on his cell phone) and conclude “she deserved it.” Trump declared that Good, “viciously ran over an ICE officer.” Open your eyes, Donald. Vance proclaimed her, “a deranged leftist.” Hardly. Noem dubbed her “a domestic terrorist.” (Frankly, one could easily apply that moniker to Noem.) Listening to their pathetic drivel was beyond stunning. Like January 6th, it was all theater with bad actors spouting lies instead of lines.
Finally, I understand how this pathetic excuse of a human was elected President. There really are that many deluded people in this country. We don’t need to make America great again. We need to make it smart again. Unless you’re unapologetically ignorant, how else can you justify the cold-blooded execution of an American citizen and mother of three, with no criminal record? Perhaps the 19 billion Congress approved for ICE might be better spent supporting people than deporting them.
Yesterday, I overheard a fellow pickleball player say, “She got what she deserved. She’s an agitator.” ‘Deserved?’ If we murdered everyone who disagreed with us, the world would disappear. As for Ross being ‘worried for his life?’ After he squeezed the trigger, he called Good a “fucking bitch.” Sounds terrified to me. The media has analyzed this incident ad infinitum and posited the legalities of Ross’s actions with several proclaiming, “He’ll never be charged.” But that’s not what worries me. It’s our indifference to life itself.
This post doesn’t come with a photo so you can envision the real horror in your mind. Picture Ross as he watched Good’s car crash mere seconds after he shot her. He did not go to her or render aid. Instead, he re-holstered his gun, turned from the scene, and walked away. He told another ICE agent to “call 911,” got into his vehicle and drove off as if it was just another day at work. Don’t worry that he or the others can’t sleep at night. It’s easy when your thinking is so shallow there’s no room for a conscience.
P. S. I am grateful for the readers from 68 countries that read my blog this past year. Thank you for taking an interest in my thoughts and sharing them with others.
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Remember in school when the teacher asked a question and you shrank down in your seat hoping he’d call on someone else? No one wanted to go first. Years later, at my very first dance, I quickly realized that waiting for someone to ask me could take forever. Life was too short to just stand there like a dope. Sure, it felt a little awkward, but somebody had to go first!
These days I don’t need motivation. Most mornings find me walking fast, wearing headphones and singing along with the songs on my playlist. When the beat is good, I have to dance. It’s innate. I simply cannot stop myself. If the sun is behind me, I dance with my shadow. Rarely a day passes that I’m not able to cajole at least one other person into moving or singing right along with me.
Recently, a fellow pickleball player, whom I’ve only known from a distance, motioned me over to his court. He’s at least 30 years younger and a fine player.
“Someday,” he confided, “I hope to be more like you: freer and not so self-conscious.”
Now how often does a young guy tell an old gal he wants to be more like her? He didn’t just make my day. He made my YEAR! If everyone were a little ‘freer’ life would be more joyful. If people said the kind things they’re thinking, like he did, imagine the result? Look, I’m not a good dancer but who cares? I just let the music move me and shut everything and everyone else out.
It’s the same advice I give to my clients. “Focus on yourself, not some idiot you don’t even know on Instagram.” No one else’s life is more interesting than yours. So, if you’re saving your dance moves for the casket, be sure they bury you in tap shoes. If you’re keeping your feelings to yourself in case they’re not reciprocated? Might as well swallow your tongue. It’s wasted in your mouth.
Look, you can be the critical jackass who silently judges and criticizes others, or you can be the one who goes first; the one who gives someone else the freedom to follow their bliss, too. Isn’t it time you set your own bar instead of doing backbends under everyone else’s? May 2026 inspire you to be as brave, bold and beautiful as these dancers are!
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I found hundreds of these tree bark striplings lying in the gutter, covered with mud. They had fallen from a Manzanita tree on a populated street in La Jolla. Countless people stepped on them as if they were garbage, not noticing them at all. But their paper-thin delicacy and colors captivated my eye. After rinsing them off and drying them in the sunshine, I arranged them in this vase.
This kind of ‘treasure’ hunting is second nature to me. I do it with people as well. Rarely do I judge your book by its’ cover. My X-ray vision sees smack through dye jobs, makeup, jewelry, tattoos, facelifts, poofed-lips and into your psyche. Besides, a recent study found that if you think beauty can be improved on, you’re more likely to take risks; the kind that can hurt yourself and others.
The only beauty you’ll ever improve on is within you. Outer beauty is fleeting. Efforts to enhance it are superficial and transitory. Just ask any aging movie star. Lucille Ball once told me, “The hardest part of getting old is that everyone expects you to look like you used to.” At the time, she was only 64! While it takes time and travails to improve your inner beauty, it will endure long past the outer.
My daughter gave me this blue bikini for Christmas. It fit perfectly, but I was reluctant to model it for our company. She thought it was because I don’t feel good about my body, but that’s not it at all. My aging body is awesome. You just have to look past the wrinkles to truly appreciate its splendor! Since that’s hard for 30-somethings to do, why shatter their illusions now?
Happy New Year to my readers from 67 countries! Love knowing you’re there!
P. S. I swam in my bikini today and imagined I was that tree bark come to life—best viewed from a little distance with just a dash of backlight!
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For almost every Christmas of my adult life, I’ve had real trees in my home. The smell of pine coupled with the soft twinkle of lights, is magical. In my 20’s, when I lived in tiny apartments, I had little trees in pots which I decorated with miniature decorations. After the holidays, I planted them back in the wild. As time went by and my homes and family grew, so did the trees.
Now that my children are grown, my enthusiasm for a tree has dimmed. I’m no longer wild about loading it on the car, dragging it through rain or snow into the front door, propping it up in water and standing on a ladder to string the lights. Even the memories of unwrapping ornaments, placing them on the boughs, then rewrapping each and packing them back in boxes by myself feels exhausting.
This year, I decided there would be no tree. Just the idea of it overwhelmed me. My girls were coming home for Christmas so I wondered what I could do instead. Perhaps we could go to a local landmark where they always have a spectacular tree to enjoy? Maybe put lights on the cactus outside? An artificial tree feels hollow and not helpful to the environment. So maybe better to have none at all and just enjoy being together.
These ideas were running through my head as I returned home from a Thanksgiving trip. When I entered the house and set down my suitcase, there was an unmistakable scent of pine. I turned the corner to find the most beautiful tree shimmering in front of me. It was strung with lights and my homemade decorations sparkled from the boughs. Tears streamed down my cheeks.
As a surprise–and it was a surprise like no other– my oldest daughter had orchestrated the entire event in my absence. It was as if she had read my mind and realized I just wasn’t up to it anymore. Perhaps, she felt it was now her turn to share our tradition. The sight of her tree still leaves me in awe. It is worth more than any words I can summon, so I wanted to share it with you.
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On this Human Rights Day when we celebrate the humanity of all people, we continue to endure a leader who does not. Ours is a greedy, self-serving, bombastic child more focused on building a ballroom than providing for the citizenry. His vile tongue sets a demoralizing example. Never mind his wanton past and pardons for crooks, sex offenders and drug dealers. I wouldn’t let him in my house for any amount of money.
The bobbleheads who flank him in the Oval Office make me seethe. When he calls female reporters “piggy,” “stupid” and “ugly,” his cronies smile as if that’s just business as usual and it is. Does any of this strike you as ‘Christian’ behavior? (The crucifix around Melania’s neck doesn’t count.) Congress just spent 140 million to buy six Boeing 747’s to deport people. How about spending that to support people, like our scientists, teachers and farmers?
This Administration encourages neither education, scientific research, a clean environment or ‘justice for all.’ The ‘swamp’ it needs to drain is the one it is standing in. Science has saved us from plagues, pestilence and all manner of mayhem. Measles, once eradicated, is now at its highest level in 25 years! RFK may well have had ‘a spiritual awakening,’ but thanks to him, America is awakening to a nightmare.
Let me be clear. This is not a political post but a humanitarian one. Apparently, his highness hasn’t looked away from his mirror long enough to notice that among the 8 billion people in the world, he is hardly ‘the fairest of them all.’ Further, we are all intrinsically connected. In Africa, the term Ubuntu means “humanness” and says, “I am because we are.” It reveres the importance of community. (No, Donald, Mar-A-Lago, is not a community).
2,000 years ago, in “The Republic,” Plato wrote about the ‘philosopher king;’ a leader who combines wisdom, virtue, and a deep love of truth to govern justly, prioritizing the state’s good over personal gain. Perhaps our emperor with no clothes failed to read Matthew 6:19-21 which says, “lay not up for yourselves treasures on earth, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven. For where your treasure is, there will be your heart also.”
While Trump was cutting BILLIONS from scientific research, scientists at Northwestern were discovering a way to send light to neural pathways in the brain, enabling victims of paralysis to walk again! They’ve also created a small robot the size of a grain of sand that will be able to travel through your body and rewire damaged nerves! What’s a White House ballroom compared to that? And he thinks he’s a peacemaker?
Look, I have a high tolerance for pain but a very low one for injustice. All the crypto in the world won’t keep this pathetic, lily-white dynasty from receiving its ‘just deserts.’ Hopefully, I’ll be alive to see it because I can feel vengeful, too. Meanwhile, I find myself going out of my way to be kind as if I’m trying to overcompensate for the cruel actions of those in power.
At the market yesterday, an old man in front of me was counting out his change penny by penny. The clerk was put out.
“How wonderful,” I enthused. “The little things still matter to you!” The old man seemed grateful.
Today, a young woman cut me off in traffic. I wasn’t happy. However, a minute later, we were side by side at a red light. I rolled down my window and motioned for her to do the same. Reluctantly, she did.
“I get it,” I said. “It’s tough out there but you’re not alone. So, take it easy, okay?”
Sending the same reminder to all of you. . .until next time.
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I saw this painting by Jorge Santos in a Santa Monica gallery recently and was absolutely captivated. Why? I’m not sure. Three people are packed together in odd juxtapositions with upside down dogs at their feet. They look spoiled, petulant and indolent. It’s riddled with hands and feet and flat out weird and I love it. I love the colors, the warmth and the closeness of the characters. I love the vibrancy, passion and virility of the moment. It reminds me of our universal self-absorption and does so in a bold, whimsical, accepting way.
Now maybe that’s not what the artist intended. Maybe I’m the only one who sees it like that. Maybe it’s because I play guitar and have worn a colander on my head. Or perhaps it’s just that I stretch my legs out like that or because the dogs remind me of Salvador Dali. God knows why I love it, but I do. I love it so much, that it makes me want to meet the artist! He has captured something about the way I feel or have felt. Maybe he even understands me and has gotten inside my head?
But let’s temper my passion with reality: I have zero talent for understanding art and have never purchased any. The only art in my house was either done by my children or friends. Sure, I’ve been to the Met, the Guggenheim and wandered through the National Gallery. I’ve perused the Museo Del Prado in Madrid and the Louvre in Paris where I stared at the original Mona Lisa up close and was hugely unimpressed.
I have no ‘eye for art.’ Ask my friends and family, I’m blind when it comes to the visual. I can’t tell the difference between plum and purple, struggle to match a blouse with a pair of pants or coordinate a rug with a sofa. If I have to attend a formal event, I have my kids dress me. So why this fascination with this painting now? No clue.
But I do know this: Sometimes it is enough just to be stirred by something or someone that captures your eye or your heart—even for a moment—a connection so real you can feel it—but so ethereal that you know you can never really hold it. And that is enough. All you need. All you dare ask.
P.S. Wearing a colander is a grand way to entertain the littles with secret messages you are picking up from Outer Space.
