At 40, I was accepted to law school—almost. The whole application was sparked at dinner in Seaside with a friend who happened to know faculty from that school. Musing aloud about expanding my psychology practice into forensic psychology, I blithely rounded up recommendation letters, took the LSAT, applied, and got in. I even convinced myself I was ready. But when it came time to hit the road, I made an excuse. Mounting expenses and procrastination won out. I never showed.

Years later, over dinner at the same restaurant, I met the producer of The Truman Show. She was in Seaside prepping the town for the Jim Carrey film. I helped out and was even offered a small speaking role—maybe the mailman who waves hello, or a cashier who says thanks. But once again, work prevailed. Instead, I arranged for a skilled ARNP to provide medical services for the cast. Just another near-miss.

These accidents of fate occur from time to time. In terms of accidents, though, I notice that peer baby boomers often describe how free wheeling childhood was back in the day. We stayed out till all hours, we didnt use seat belts, we played risky sports without protective gear. To some degree this is romanticizing the past. On the other, I do recall having far more injuries as a child than seems usual. There were burns from melting plastic army men, bicycle crashes, deep knee gashes,  head knockings, scraping along the bottom of school busses as they took on icy roads and we grabbed the fenders,  broken teeth, jumps from garage roofs, hospital visits, and various other scar-leaving activities. It was not a bad way to grow up--probably helped us learn that the human body is for the most part sturdy and self-heals. Those childhood scars taught me that our bodies are tougher than we think. We fall, we bleed, we heal—and we move on. Those experiences grounded me in a belief: life doesn’t always follow a plan, and sometimes the detours define us more than the path we never took.