Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake by Anna Quindlen

In Anna Quindlen's newest book, she writes of life as she approaches 60. The book is a memoir of, to a limited degree, her young adulthood and, to a much greater one, of her marriage, her three children and her career as a journalist and successful author. Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake is largely written in essay form -- perhaps my favorite genre -- and reveals much about the woman behind the bestselling name.

If you didn't already know it, she supports, among other things, women's rights, including those that would open more high-ranking management positions to women.

Quindlen takes a generally optimistic tone, though she admits some fears -- along with hopes -- that many, if not all, people face as they grow older.

"Most of us convince ourselves that we will reach a plateau from our peak, not a valley," she writes.

"I try to imagine all the contingencies, but I admit I focus on the ones I like best" -- sitting at a book club with friends, not in the hallway of a nursing home, for instance, she adds.

Quindlen recalls the words of an elderly friend, Mrs. Smiley, who once said, "If you break a hip, you're finished."

To which, Quindlen observes, "It was an overstatement, but I think what she was really trying to say was that sometimes a single moment can mark the dividing line between who you are and who you never wanted to be."

I read those words, I agreed with them, I pondered the unfairness of them, and then I tried to pinpoint the dividing line in my own life, if it already exists. The very fact that I consider these words to be so unfair suggests I have at least approached that line -- or it has approached me. The line, the incident, the thing that changes everything, does not have to be an injury or an illness.

It can be a wrong decision, one we made as an immature teenager (as in Anne Tyler's wonderful novel Saint Maybe). Or it can be one we made as a mature adult but with naive expectations, with fanciful hopes or sometimes with greedy or sinister intent. Perhaps, the dividing line is a move we made, a job we turned down, a job we took, a marriage proposal we accepted or declined, a missed plane, a canceled doctor's appointment, a lie we told, a lie we believed, a lie we pretend didn't happen.

If it's not clear by now, I loved Quindlen's book, though, unlike her, I am less happy with my life at this point than I was when I was in my 30s. The 30s brought more choices -- in work, in health, in relationships, in the smallest of decisions and in the biggest of adventures. And yet age also has given me more self-confidence, along with a greater ability to understand why good people make mistakes and why we should be inclined to forgive rather than accuse. You see, as we live longer, we are bound to make more and more mistakes, some worse than others. So, we -- I -- can see more clearly than ever how I, too, have so often needed forgiveness.

Unlike the high school senior who didn't get asked to her prom, who was made to believe she was obese at 130, 140 pounds, who felt such irrational guilt she washed her hands over and over and over -- the woman I have become is moderately self-confident, not content but no longer embarrassed by her weight. Now, I can more freely call a supervising editor by a first name instead of Mr. (There weren't many upper-management figures in newsrooms with a Mrs., Ms. or Miss title in the 70s and 80s, and frankly there still aren't.) I now can even express disagreement when I disagree. I will defend myself and rarely apologize unless I believe I am in the wrong or unless I see no other logical recourse: I am pragmatic. And despite the feeling by many younger men and women that it's time for people of my generation, especially women, to quit being ambitious, to step aside and let them replace us, I shall continue working for a better life, a better job, another start if you will -- I'm not quitting and have no intention of doing so.

In many ways I'm braver, more courageous than I was at age 30. In other ways never before expected, I'm more vulnerable than ever, afraid of the unknown, of what lies ahead.

But fears or not, if I live to be 80, 90, 100, I won't go out sitting quietly "in my place." I fully intend to speak up for women's rights and against gender, racial and age discrimination as long as I can -- unless both my verbal and written voices give out on me first.

As Quindlen writes, "To be continued. It's another day, and I'm off and running. See you."