Gabby was with us for nine years, and despite her critter size, played a huge role in my life. She greeted me every time I walked in the room with her squeaks, and clamored for attention–and food–when I would cut up vegetables. She even squeaked when she heard the sound of a tuna can hitting the counter because she knew celery wasn’t far behind.

We adopted Gabby (Gabriella) with her sister Izzy (Isabella) when they were just days old. They were sisters. Gabby was tiny because Izzy was a bully and would take all of the food. Gabby soon compensated for that–perhaps even over compensated–when she was moved to her own cage and didn’t have to fight Izzy anymore. She grew to be quite a porker–pun intended.

Izzy and Gabby

Sadly, in June I noticed Gabby had cold-like features. She had runny eyes and a sniffly nose. And she had stopped eating and drinking. This came at the end of a extremely trying week in which Paisley had a mysterious pain that resulted in a trip to the ER. Paisley was fine; Gabby was not.

Now, this is the third guinea pig in 12 years that has gotten sick on me. The two times before I rushed to vets, getting instructions to care for them, and nursing them the best I could — giving them meds, hand feeding them, using droppers to give them water. I believed the vets when they said there was a cure. There was not.

So, I should know by now that when a guinea pig shows symptoms of sickness, there’s no saving it. But I called the vet anyway. What I really wanted was for the vet to say yes or no if a guinea pig can survive the symptoms I described. But no, they said they needed to see her. So, because I couldn’t simply let her suffer without a proper diagnosis, off to the vet we went.

Upon seeing Gabby, the vet looked very concerned. At that point, she should have said to me there’s nothing she can do. Go home and let her die in peace. But noooooo. Instead she led me to believe there was hope — like the times before — and suggested a round of tests, medications, special food, and an injection of fluid under her skin because she was dehydrated. That was to the tune of $180.

“OK,” I think. “I can do this. Gabby can do this. She will recover. This time everything will turn out OK.”

I was so wrong. Forty-five minutes after I got her home, my poor little Gabby went into her hutch, curled up, and died. I believe the trauma of the vet’s visit caused her to have a heart attack. I paid nearly $200 for the vet to kill her.

All of this transpired while my daughter was getting ready for her 8th grade dance. I noticed Gabby was dead while Paisley was getting ready, but I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin her night. But during a last-minute return to my bedroom Paisley was near Gabby’s cage and noticed she wasn’t breathing.

“Mom!” she called to me. “I think Gabby’s dead!”

My heart sank. Now my little girl was going to have a horrible night–a night she was greatly looking forward to.

I came out of my bedroom, checked Gabby like I was unaware of her state, and confirmed for Paisley she was dead.

After Gabby Died

Paisley and I shed some tears, but she did not want what happened to ruin her night. Fortunately, she had a fantastic time at her dance. She spent the night at her best friend’s house while I was left taking care of Gabby and all of her things.

I was heartbroken. I couldn’t bear to look at her things, so I immediately threw her cage, water bottle, food container, etc. into the dumpster. The hay and unused bedding went into my car to be given to my friend who has a rabbit. And Gabby was wrapped in a towel, put into a shoebox, and also put into my car.

I didn’t know what to do with her. I have no property on which to bury her. I could bury her in the yard of the house I shared with my ex-husband. I could let her “swim with the fishes” in the lake near my condo. Or I could drive around with her until I found the best place.

Gabby stayed in the back of my car for one week. Yes, one week. Fortunately, she never started smelling.

Eventually I decided to put her body in the lake near my condo. It’s pretty — lots of wildlife in and around it — and close by so I could think of her whenever I passed it.

So, at 11:30 p.m., in the dark of night, I crept over to the lake with Gabby still wrapped in the towel but now in a tote bag. I found a nice spot. Took her out of the bag, unwrapped the towel and placed her into the water.

Now, not ever being in the mob, I thought Gabby’s body would sink. Not the case. Her body rose immediately to the top. I pushed it down. It came back up. I tried to put it under grasses growing in the water. It resurfaced.

“Great, now what do I do?”

I used the towel to take her body out. I look around and notice a nice area of bushes, trees and flowers and decide to bury her there. Of course, I don’t have a shovel of any kind, so I use my hands to dig her grave. (Fortunately, it was mostly sandy soil.) I quickly put her in the grave, cover her up, whisper a goodbye, and walk back home.

I walk around that lake often. And each time I pass Gabby’s grave, and think about how wonderful a pet she was.

Live in the moment: I need to stop worrying about the past and what might be coming down the road. For when I do that, I neglect the people around me and I withdraw from life. I need to enjoy every moment.

Treasure family and friends: When I’m with them I need to give them my full attention and all my love and care. I cannot take them for granted. I might be in the grumpiest of moods, but I cannot neglect or be mean to the people I love.

Do what is right for me: I cannot do things to please others. I must do things that are right for me and my daughter.

Get happy: I need to discover what makes me happy and do those things. And enjoy them fully.

Be strong: I need to develop the strength to do what is right for me — and hold on to it. I can’t let others’ feelings, words, or actions weaken me.

With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I thought I’d do my own top 10 list of things to be thankful for. What am I, a 42-year-old, recently re-employed woman with a pre-teen daughter and a failed marriage, thankful for? Let’s take a look:

10. That I look younger than my age — Thank you, Dad, for the fact that I have no gray hair and few wrinkles, save for those

Thanksgiving Chapel in Dallas

laugh lines that are starting to rear their ugly heads, and thank you, Mom, for my thinness. But as you can see from numbers 9 and 8, I believe my natural features need a little help.

9. My colorist & hair stylist — Thank you, Tawna, for the magical work you do coloring my hair, transforming my natural drab brown into golden blonde, and thank you, Harris, for knowing just how to cut my hair. Until I went away this past summer I had no idea how great you are. I went to two different colorists and stylists in Boston, and none did what you so ably do to make me look fabulous.

8. My trainer — I work out on my own, but without Josh to push me to the limit and figuratively kick my butt each week, I would not be in as good shape.

7. JetBlue — It might seem odd to have this company in my list, but with this airline I can easily and usually cheaply get back north to see my family, friends and co-workers. Plus, who wouldn’t love the free snacks, TV, roomy seats, crew, and customer service? And they fly direct from West Palm Beach, Fla., to Boston.

6. My health — I’ve had various health issues in the past, but today — save for my hypothyroidism — I’m pretty damn healthy (knock on wood!). Let’s hope I get through flu season without any problems.

5. My job — After being unemployed for five months, I’m very fortunate to have a job. However, when I took the position as editor of RainToday.com (Framingham, Mass.) I had no idea how great the company and my co-workers would be. On my first day, I sat at my desk and faced a stack of what I thought was mail. It was letters from each person who works there, welcoming me to the company. Three months later, when I had to return to Florida and was prepared to have them say “good-bye” to me, they told me I could work remotely — something they never allowed a staffer to do before. And when I made a visit to the office at the end of September, they surprised me with a little office party.

More than that, every week someone there tells me how much they like my work. It’s been quite a while since I’ve worked someplace where people like me and my work — and tell me so.

4. My Boo — Four years ago, when my marriage began its decay, I was fortunate to meet a man who has become one of the most important people in my life. What makes him so special is that he gets me — he understands me — and he lets me be me. He knows I have quirks (and God knows they can be challenging), but he doesn’t turn them into an issue. What he does do is get me to laugh about them, as well as many other things.

3. My friends and family — Family has always been important to me. They are my foundation and support me through everything. I have many friends who are also part of that foundation, but no one compares to my BFF Jill.

During the second week of our freshman year at Northeastern University, Jill literally took me by the hand to go off on an adventure. Nearly 25 years later, we’re still on an adventure. If my family is my foundation, Jill is the rock at the center that keeps it from crumbling. She has stuck by me through all of my ups and downs, and she is my voice of reason who helps me sort through whatever issue I’m dealing with. I can always count on her.

2. My daughter — Being the mother of a very-soon-to-be teenager, I now get the joke about understanding why some species eat their young. Yes, Paisley and I have our difficult times. We can both be moody, and we have our share of fights, but it is that girl who keeps me going. She is incredibly smart, loving, caring, and has more creative talent than I can ever hope to have. My life would be nothing if it didn’t include her.

And the number one thing is …

The desire to make my life better — I have days when it’s incredibly difficult to get out of bed. A large part of my life these days is a struggle — finalizing my divorce; being away from friends, family and my Boo; trying to figure out a plan to move back north; worrying about what’s best for my daughter; and more. What keeps me going is that I know my life can get better. But it will take work, and I’m the only one who can make it happen.

A few years ago I picked up The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho on a whim. An allegorical story about a young man learning to follow his heart and dreams, it is the most motivating and inspirational book I ever read. I’ve read it several times, usually during periods when I don’t think I have the strength to continue to “fight the good fight,” and after each read I feel stronger. I can make my life better.

So, what are you thankful for?

Sometimes it's OK to lie (Photo by Leo Reynolds)

Think about it: Humans created the idea of heaven to ease the fear of dying. Parents tell their children about Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny to make Christmas and Easter more fun. Husbands and boyfriends tell the women in their lives their butts don’t look fat in those jeans. Women smile and say thank you, when their boyfriends or husbands buy them a slinky negligee for their birthday when what they really wanted was a pair of comfy sweatpants.

I am not always able to tell those white lies. If I don’t like a gift, it shows on my face. If someone asks me if they look good in an outfit, and they don’t look good, I tell them so. Ask me my opinion on a situation, and I’ll tell you exactly how I feel. You might think it’s good to be so honest, but my actions have hurt people’s feelings. When dinner is made for me as a surprise, I should say thank you and eat it — or some of it — regardless. I should not throw a fit like I did with the infamous Sloppy Joe supper made by my boyfriend years ago.

As a parent, however, lying is part of the game. “Mom, can I have some candy?” “Let me think about it.” “Mom, can we go to the mall?” “Maybe.” “Mom, can I go to Horror Nights with Amanda?” “We’ll see.”

The true answer to all of those questions was “No.” Why didn’t I just say no? Because I didn’t want the battle. While our kids are young, we can get away with those responses. Soon, however, they figure it out — “No, maybe! Maybe means no! Why caaaaaan’t I!”

And, of course, I told the Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, and Easter Bunny lies. A couple years ago I got tired of playing the Easter Bunny and all the work of setting up egg hunts. Plus the damn bunny got all the credit! So, I told Paisley the truth. She was heartbroken. Through her tears she shrieked, “You lied to me! Now, you’re probably going to tell me there’s no Santa Claus!” “Oh, no,” I said. “I’m not telling you that.” Yup, I told her another lie.

If the tables were turned, would I want to be lied to? If they’re lies that make me feel better, then yes. When I cook a meal, tell me it’s wonderful even if you think it smells like garbage. When I get dressed up to go out, tell me I look beautiful even if the dress is less-than flattering. When I buy you a gift, tell me you love it even if you think you’ll never use it.

I also believe that full disclosure is not always warranted. Unlike the characters in The Invention of Lying, you do not need to reveal all of your true thoughts. While that made for some chuckles during the film, in real life feelings get hurt.

When thinking about my personal life, I sometimes wonder what I would expect if my significant other flirted with another woman or went to the movies or something with another woman. If the action did not affect our relationship and his feelings toward me remain true, do I want to know about what he did? No. He can keep that information to himself.

Yes, you should strive to be open and honest. But sometimes, just sometimes, a lie is called for.

It wasn’t always like that. When I was in my teens and 20s, I ate junk and cared very little about the benefits of exercise. Exercise was a way to socialize. In high school I played sports — basketball and softball — and made friends with fellow jocks. In college I took aerobics classes (complete with my Olivia Newton-John outfit and headband — “Let’s Get Physical, Physical”) and joined a gym because I wanted new friends and I needed something to do other than study and go to bars.

And after college, forget it. I worked as a reporter where Dunkin Donuts coffee and doughnuts was my regular breakfast and late-night deadlines meant eating pizza or subs. Exercise was walking to and from my car and sometimes taking the dog for a walk. Fortunately, I did not put on a lot of weight. I was blessed with good genes, I guess. (Thanks, Mom!)

But as I started thinking about having children, I became concerned about my physical being. I knew that I should exercise. By then Jane Fonda’s aerobics videotapes were the rage, and I bought one complete with the step to go with it. (I still have that step!) I got pregnant and soon added pregnancy exercise videotapes to the collection.

That exercise helped, as my post-baby body looked OK. But I knew there were extra pounds, having to wear “mom” jeans to accommodate the pouch that was now there. And as for wearing a bikini again, forget it! I still won’t wear one. Thin as I am, having babies took its toll on my cute belly. (Sigh — I miss that belly!)

To make it more difficult on me, at that time I had just moved to South Florida where being perfect looking is emphasized nearly everywhere. Boob jobs, liposuction, and Botox — oh, my!

Rather than go to the extreme, however, I kicked up my workouts. I started by using the exercise equipment at work during my lunch break, walking around the lake in my neighborhood, climbing up and down the stairs in my townhouse, and working out to my old Jane Fonda step aerobics tape.

When I switched to a work-from-home job, I joined a gym and began doing weight training combined with cardio exercises. That’s when the pounds finally started going away and I regained my shape. I’ve been a member of that gym ever since.

If I feel like I’ve hit a wall and lack the motivation to push myself, I work out with a personal trainer. The trainer always asks me what my goal is, and I say I want to look good. I don’t have a marathon coming up, I’m not planning an outdoor adventure, I’m not joining a sports team. I just want to look good. And now that I’m in my 40s, the pressure is even greater to keep looking good. Yup, I’m a little vain.

An email has been passed around for years about getting older. It’s been attributed to comedian George Carlin, but it’s actually from actor and comedian Larry Miller. It captures exactly how we as a society perceive aging.

You BECOME 21, you TURN 30, then you’re PUSHING 40. Whoa! Put on the brakes, it’s all slipping away. Before you know it, you REACH 50 . . . and your dreams are gone.

I’m at the point where I’m putting on the brakes, trying like hell to slow the passage of time. And yet I still have difficulty enjoying the present. Mostly I have difficulty enjoying the moment. I take great pleasure in planning things, but when it comes to doing what I planned, my mind goes elsewhere. If I’m doing something that should be fun, I think about work that needs to be done. If I’m away from Paisley, I think about how I should be with her. If I’m in Florida, I think about being in Boston. The last day of a trip is especially difficult. The flight could be at 9pm, but I’m so distracted by what is waiting for me upon my return and what could happen when I leave, that I can’t just relax and enjoy the day.

I’m working on it, though. If I make an effort to put my mind on pause, I can relax and enjoy myself and the people I’m with. I might need some reminders from people around me, but I can do it. Last night is a good example. I was crazy busy doing chores most of the day. After supper Paisley made brownies and asked if we were going to play a game.

“A game?” I thought. “I have all this laundry to do. I have to reconcile my checking account. I have to file all this paperwork.” But what I said was, “We’ll play after you make the brownies.” And we did.

Then after we played the game, we ate brownies and watched a movie together. I have to admit, however, that my first thought when Paisley said she wanted to watch a movie was, “But I want to watch one of my movies.” I pushed that thought away, though, and watched Kung Fu Panda. And not once did I think about my other movie or the laundry sitting in the washer.

I’m finally learning to slow down and smell the flowers–or the brownies, or the ocean breeze, or the mountain air, or the pumpkin gnocchi. When I stop thinking about all the things I believe I should do and things that might happen without me–and really enjoy the fun things around me–life is so much better.

Fortunately — or maybe unfortunately — I still do those things, but on a different level. Get me with my girls, and I can be as goofy as any 12-year-old. Put on my favorite tune, and I still sing with abandon (when no one is listening, of course). And I still shed tears over men who were once boys — and I guess sometimes still act like boys. But now I have my life experiences to guide me, reassure me and keep me going, whereas when I was 12 there were so many unknowns and fears.

I would never want to go back to being 12, nor would I want to relive high school. Those years are just too tough — girlfriend fights, boyfriends (and breakups with those boyfriends), parents who drive you crazy, battles with your sister, school. And when one thing goes awry, you think your world is coming to an end. You don’t trust that there will be better, happier times. It wasn’t until I was in my 20s and 30s that life calmed down, and I began to feel comfortable with — and to accept — who I am.

Now that I’m in my 40s, my life has entered another tumultuous time. Certain aspects of my life make me miserable, and it’s time to make some difficult decisions and changes. The difference between my unhappiness now and the unhappiness that I experienced as a 12-year-old is that now I know there can be happiness again. My life is not coming to an end. I can make my life better, and I’m looking forward to what that life will be like once I make it through to the other side.

And today, my birthday, I’m going to enjoy all that is good in my life and push aside the bad. I’ll deal with the bad later. The bad stuff will wait for me–and then I’ll kick its butt and tell it never to return.

(This post is dedicated to my friend Renee for inspiring me to write in my blog again.)

My journey -- Breaking Boundaries (Photo by Rafael Gomes)

My life in Florida as it was, was holding me back. I was confined to a certain role that was too small for me, too restricting. During the past six months I thought long and hard about how to change it. I decided to go back to the place that has always made me feel happy — Boston. I created a plan and fulfilled it — got a full-time job and have relocated there. Don’t ever let it be said that I can’t do what I say I’m going to do. But now that I’m here in this life, I’m questioning it. Actually, I started questioning the decision when I started packing, and several times during the drive north considered turning back, but I am going ahead with it to learn if my fears and doubts are true or if happiness truly resides here.

As I start my second week of work, I am feeling a slightly better about the change. However, when I stop and think about everything that’s going on, I feel fear deep in my stomach like the bottom is falling away bit by bit, I’m on edge, and I’m often on the verge of tears.

I question whether a full-time job that requires me to be in an office for nine hours a day is right for me. I question whether I can work such a job and care for my daughter if she lives here with me. I fear that having such a job means losing quality of life, as I have little to no time for social activity. I fear getting trapped in a job and losing my creative outlets. I wonder if my return to the Boston area is an attempt to relive my previous life here.

To add to my concerns, I still have my divorce and the issue of my daughter’s custody hanging over my head. Neither has been decided. While I consider what is good for me, I also think about what is best for my daughter. The divorce will proceed, but the conditions shouldn’t be so severe that they negatively affect her. He won’t move to be close to her, and I can’t bear the thought of her living so far away from me.

While I struggle with those things, I am extremely happy to be near my friends and family. They are my support system, and they cheer me on. I need to focus, however, on enjoying my time with them and not let my worries distract me. I need to live the moments, which is something I always have a hard time doing. I can plan the most amazing events, parties, and vacations, but once it comes time to live them and enjoy the fruits of my labor, I’m rarely able to do so. Worry seeps in, and I want to busy myself with planning the next thing. I never fully experience events currently occurring in my life.

I may not know what the end of the summer will bring, but I know that I want and need to enjoy all the moments leading up to that. And if autumn finds me having to bring my daughter back to Florida, then I need to live and fully experience that journey as well — not rush through it.

Pimples! – Why, at age 41, do I still get these?! They were supposed to have stopped by now. Ugh! I got my first pimple when I was 10. I remember it vividly because it reared its ugly head right before my first day of fifth grade. Not only was it the first day of school, but it was the first day at a new school. Super! That one eventually went away, but later came puberty and the accompanying pimple problem. We’re told that the pimples and acne will go away when we get older. But that didn’t happen for me. Here I am still dealing with this problem.

I'm too old for the hangovers that come with drinking a lot of wine (Supplied by FreeFoto.com)

Drinking too much alcohol – In college and even high school, my social life involved many parties and drinking lots of alcohol. I could chug beer and do shots of tequila throughout the night and shake off a hangover the next day with a couple of Tylenol and glass of orange juice. Those days are gone. The problem is, sometimes I forget that. Every few months I enjoy my drinks too much and end up paying the price the next day. Now my recovery involves sleeping away most of the day until the pounding headache and nausea finally passes. It’s an incredible waste of a day, and I always hate myself for doing that.

Unplanned sleep-overs at a friend’s house – It used to be that if I were too tired or too drunk to drive home from a friend’s house that I would simply sleep there. A sleepover! Not anymore. You will NOT catch me sleeping on someone’s couch, in a chair, or on the floor ever again. I need my bed, my toothbrush, my contact lens case, my pajamas — my own stuff. If I sleep anywhere but at my own house, I make sure I’m well prepared.

Worrying about getting pregnant – For most sexually active women, there’s only one small time in their lives when they don’t worry that they might get pregnant. And that’s when they’re trying to get pregnant. Other than that small window of time, they hope and pray that Aunt Flow visits every month.

Even older women who use birth control exactly how they’re supposed occasionally will be stricken with panic when their period comes late or they have mid-cycle spotting. Thoughts that run through her head, “Do I wait a few days and see what happens? Has this happened before? Do my breasts feel tender? Should I get a home pregnancy test? What if I am pregnant? Should I go see my doctor? Damn! I’m too old for this shit!” The relief is immense when everything gets back on schedule.

Worrying about what others think about my appearance – Beginning when we’re girls, we worry about what people think about our looks. We want to look pretty, we want others to think we’re pretty, we want the perfect hair, skin and body, and we want to wear the perfect clothes. It’s exhausting! Slowly I’ve let go of that. I do what feels right to me, not what someone else thinks I should do. If I want to wear my long hair up in a ponytail, I will. If I don’t want to wear makeup, I won’t. If I want to wear my gym clothes in the morning until I go to the gym in the afternoon, I will.

Don’t get me wrong. I want to look good — I workout regularly, I take care of my skin, I pay to get my hair cut and colored, and I eat healthily — but I want to look good on my terms. I’m not going to look a certain way because someone else thinks I should.

Worrying about whether I have the same stuff as others – This, too, begins in our teens. We want to fit in and don’t want to risk being picked on because we’re different. I remember desperately wanting designer jeans and purchasing my first pair of Chic jeans with money I received for Christmas. I finally had a pair of designer jeans like Margaret Plastridge! (Margaret was the first girl in my class to have skin-tight designer jeans.) But keeping up with others is exhausting and superficial. Decide for yourself what you need and want and then work for it.

Catty comments from female acquaintances – In our attempts to fit in, we put up with so much. Sometimes we let our female friends and acquaintances get away with mean, catty comments. I’m over that. If you act like a bitch to me, I’m done. Don’t expect me to reach out to you or do anything above what our relationship calls for. And if you aren’t someone I have to associate with, I will let you fade away.

Sun worship – Remember what it was like before there was sunscreen? We would toast ourselves for hours, using baby oil to supposedly attract the sun’s rays to us. We would get sunburns, telling ourselves that we were creating a base and we’d only tan after that. We wanted to be as dark as possible. We’ve since learned that that behavior will kill you. While I like how I look with a little color, you won’t catch me lying out for hours. I want to avoid skin cancer — plus I have too many other things to do!

Riding roller coasters over and over – I love roller coasters. Next to crying, they’re my favorite way to get rid of stress. It’s controlled terror. Hop on a ride and scream your lungs out as you fly along in a little car up and down hills. You get off the ride exhilarated. It used to be I would get off the ride and get right back in line to go again. Those days are over. My brain just can’t handle it, and I’ll get nauseated if I try. So I’ll let my daughter hop on for a second and third ride while I sit on a bench nearby.

Those are my top things I’m too old for. What are yours?

My 12-year-old daughter is dealing with that last struggle right now. She attends a wonderful high-tech middle school in Boca Raton, Fla., a wealthy community. Most of the students who attend that school, however, have parents who give them anything they want. Every day my daughter deals with the fact that she doesn’t own an iPhone or some type of smart phone and she doesn’t wear Abercrombie clothes. She also doesn’t look like the “popular” girls. She doesn’t have straight-straight hair, she has acne, and she has started getting a little figure. All of that, she says, makes her different — puts her outside of the “popular” girls group. Oh, the tragedy of being different!

Boston -- Where I fit in (Photo supplied by FreeFoto.com)

I know exactly how she feels. I tell her that things will get better — that middle school is, and has always been, difficult for girls. I tell her to not try to be friends with everyone but find close friends and stick with them. They’re the ones who matter most, not the bitchy Boca snobs who look down at you because you have curly hair. I tell her to do activities that she loves and that she’ll make friends with kids in the same clubs and groups.

What I don’t tell her is that the struggle to fit in will continue.

I can think of just a couple times in my life where it wasn’t so hard. Ironically, one of them was during middle school. Somehow, I was in the “popular” group. I don’t know how it happened because we were not wealthy, I wore mostly second-hand clothes, I was not considered pretty, my family situation was different than “normal” (my mother was divorced and had recently announced that she was gay), and I was the new kid. We had moved to a small city in Vermont from Springfield, Mass. By middle school girl standards, I should have been an outcast. But they accepted me.

The real struggle to fit in started in eighth grade when my mother moved us to a tiny nearby town — Roxbury, Vt. I had to leave my “girls” behind and start all over again — new house, new school, new people to try to befriend. On top of that, now I was living in the country! That’s no place for a city mouse like me.

Try as I might, I never got a new group of girls — friends to hang out with, talk for hours on the phone with, go to the movies with, share secrets with. At first I had a couple of close friends, but my time with them was spent primarily at school. Then I started joining clubs and playing sports, hoping to find my group. It didn’t happen. What did happen is that I floated among all the groups — I was with the jocks during basketball and softball season, with the drama kings and queens when I was in school plays, with the band when I was a majorette, and with the partiers when I started going to parties. I was friendly with lots of people, and I don’t think anyone disliked me, but I was always on the fringe.

I think three things contributed to that:

1. I was the new kid in a very small high school. (We had only 60 kids in our graduating class.) Ninety-nine percent of the other students knew each other from the time they were in kindergarten or earlier. They had long-time established friendships, and it was difficult for new kids to be accepted.
2. I lived in Roxbury, a tiny country town about eight miles from Northfield, the town in which the high school was located and where any potential friends lived. Hanging out with neighborhood friends was not an option. On top of that, kids who lived in Roxbury were labeled as hicks and white trash. (As if Northfield is so sophisticated! Believe me; there are hicks and white trash in that town, too.)
3. I wasn’t as open as I could have been and didn’t invite friends to my house because I didn’t want them to know that my mother was gay. During this time she started living with her partner, whom she’s been with for 30 years. “Normal” did not include having a gay mother, especially when you lived in a small country town. And when you’re in middle school and high school, being normal means everything. As my daughter can attest, you do not want to stand out.

By the time I graduated from high school, I was desperate to escape to a city. I graduated from high school and basically never looked back. I landed in the only place that in my 41 years has felt right — Boston, where I attended Northeastern University. The first time I rode the T to NU, coming above ground from the Symphony Hall stop to the Northeastern/Huntington Ave. stop, I truly felt like I had found my home. I literally and figuratively went from dark to light.

I spent five wonderful years at NU, meeting many new and interesting people (one of whom became my best friend), taking some fantastic classes, hearing amazing lectures, going to the theatre, going to the symphony, going to concerts, dancing at clubs, and working at great jobs during my co-op stints.

After graduating from college I stayed in the area, living in the suburbs until I was married and had my daughter. When she was a year old, my husband persuaded me to move to Delray Beach, Fla. It’s the biggest mistake we ever made. Again, I left what I knew and loved, this time for the promise of less-expensive real estate and lifestyle and the support of his family. (The only thing that came to fruition was the house.)

From nearly my first day here, I’ve wanted to go back. But I stuck it out because I don’t give up on things easily. I decided to tough it out and make it work. I got a new job and tried to make new friends there and through my daughter’s friends at daycare. When she entered elementary school, I joined the PTA with the hope of making friends through that group. I also tried to make friends via her different activities — dance, piano, and Girl Scouts. However, the same thing that happened to me in high school happened here. I became friendly with many people, but real friends were elusive. I can name just two people here who became real friends.

After living here a couple years, I was fortunate to get a job working from my house for a company based outside of Boston. That meant I could go “home” a few times a year for work, and it allowed me to meet many more people who became real friends. I lost that job in December, but I did not lose those friends.

Boston is my home and where my heart is. For the past four years, I argued with my soon-to-be ex-husband for us to move back. He wouldn’t budge, and it’s one of many reasons for our separation. But this year I’m finally taking matters into my own hands and moving back to Boston. It’s where I fit in.