Today I Choose to be Becoming – How to be Becoming

For a long time I thought “becoming” was something that happened in my 20s—becoming a professional, becoming a mother, becoming whatever the world needed me to be. By 50, I assumed I was done. But lately, I’ve realized I’m still becoming, in ways I never expected. Sometimes it looks like letting go of identities I’ve outgrown, or surprising myself with new passions I didn’t know I had. Becoming at this age isn’t about reinvention in a flashy sense—it’s about quietly unfolding into the woman I always was underneath the roles.

Like discovering Dutch pour painting at 60. Never artistic—my stick figures look like they need medical attention. But something about watching those colors flow and merge called to me. Now I have canvases drying in the garage, and for the first time in my life, I’m creating visual art. Not good art, necessarily. But mine.

Or creating Enlightenzz while still working my corporate job. After ten years at a company that’s always struggling, never thriving, my passion had flatlined. But instead of waiting for retirement to become someone new, I started becoming right in the margins of my current life. Writing at 5 AM. Building the website on weekends. Becoming an entrepreneur at 61, not by quitting everything, but by growing something new alongside what already exists.

The Myth of Being “Done” Becoming

There’s this unspoken assumption that by midlife, you should be fully cooked. Your personality set, your path determined, your becoming complete. But that’s like saying a tree stops growing once it reaches a certain height. We’re always becoming—it just looks different at 61 than at 21.

At 21, becoming was loud and urgent. I needed to prove myself, establish myself, make myself into something the world would recognize. Now, becoming is quieter. It’s less about construction and more about revelation. Less about adding layers and more about peeling them away to find what was always there.

What Becoming Actually Feels Like Now

In your body, becoming at this age feels like loosening. Not loosening as in falling apart, but as in finally unclenching muscles you didn’t know you were holding tight. Your shoulders drop. Your jaw releases. There’s space between who you were supposed to be and who you actually are.

It also feels vulnerable. When you’re becoming at 25, everyone expects it. At 61? People want you to stay in your lane. “Why are you starting that now?” “Isn’t it a bit late for that?” But becoming doesn’t have an expiration date.

The Different Faces of Midlife Becoming

Professional Becoming
After decades as CFO, compliance officer, problem-solver, I’m becoming something else—not by changing my title, but by changing how I show up. Less performing, more authentic. Less trying to have all the answers, more comfortable saying “I don’t know, let’s figure it out together.”

Creative Becoming
Those Dutch pour paintings? They’re teaching me I can become an artist without being good at art. Enlightenzz is teaching me I can become a writer without waiting for permission. The becoming isn’t in the mastery; it’s in the doing.

Physical Becoming
My body is becoming something new too—not the declining narrative we’re sold, but different. Softer in some places, stronger in others. Less about how it looks, more about how it feels. Becoming comfortable in skin that’s changing.

Relational Becoming
With Curtis in and out of health crises, we’re becoming different partners to each other. Not the young couple raising kids, not the middle-aged couple building careers, but something deeper. We’re becoming witnesses to each other’s full story.

The Shedding That Comes With Becoming

Here’s what nobody tells you about becoming at this age: it requires so much letting go. I’m shedding the good girl who never made waves. The perfectionist who had to have every answer. The mother who could fix everything. The professional who never showed uncertainty.

Each identity I release makes room for something truer to emerge. It’s like cleaning out a closet you’ve been stuffing things into for decades. Once you clear out what doesn’t fit anymore, you can finally see what’s actually there.

The Resistance to Becoming

Some days, I resist this becoming. It would be easier to stay who I’ve been. To keep showing up as the competent CFO who has it all together. To keep my creative pursuits hidden. To maintain the image rather than reveal the evolution.

But resistance is exhausting. And at 61, I don’t have energy to waste on staying small. The cost of not becoming—of staying frozen in an outdated version of myself—is higher than the risk of change.

Becoming in the Margins

This midlife becoming doesn’t require burning everything down. I’m becoming while still paying the mortgage. Still showing up to work. Still being a wife, mother, daughter. The becoming happens in the margins:

• 5 AM writing sessions before the day claims me
• Lunch breaks spent on Enlightenzz instead of scrolling
• Evenings painting instead of watching TV
• Conversations where I share what I’m really thinking
• Small moments of choosing authenticity over appearance

The Unexpected Joy of Late Becoming

Here’s the gift of becoming at 61: I care so much less about what people think. When someone questions why I’m starting something new now, I can shrug and say, “Because I want to.” When the paintings don’t turn out, I can laugh instead of quit. When Enlightenzz grows slowly, I can enjoy the process instead of racing to some finish line.

This becoming isn’t fueled by ambition to prove something. It’s fueled by curiosity about who else I might be.

Becoming vs. Reinventing

Reinvention suggests scrapping everything and starting over. That’s not what this is. This becoming is more like a plant that’s been growing in shade finally getting some sun. I’m not becoming someone entirely new; I’m becoming more fully who I always was but couldn’t quite access.

The writer was always there, waiting. The artist was dormant, not absent. The authentic leader was hidden under layers of what I thought leadership should look like. The becoming is really an uncovering.

The Pace of Becoming

At 21, becoming felt urgent. Everything needed to happen NOW. At 61, becoming can be slow. I can take months to finish a painting. Years to build Enlightenzz. There’s no rush except the awareness that time is finite—which paradoxically makes me more patient with the process.

This slower becoming allows for integration. Each small change has time to settle before the next one. It’s sustainable in a way that dramatic transformation rarely is.

What Supports This Becoming

Morning Pages
Three pages of stream-of-consciousness writing every morning. It’s where I discover what I’m becoming before my conscious mind catches up.

Creative Play
The paintings, the writing, the website design—all of it is play. No pressure to monetize or perfect. Just space to explore.

Trusted Witnesses
A few people who can see and celebrate this becoming without trying to direct it. Curtis, who says “I love watching you unfold.” Friends who say “You seem lighter lately.”

Physical Movement
Walking, stretching, dancing in the kitchen—movement that isn’t about fitness but about staying fluid, staying open to change.

The Fear and the Freedom

Yes, there’s fear in this becoming. Fear that it’s too late. Fear that I’ll fail at these new things. Fear that people will think I’m having some kind of crisis. Fear that I’m being foolish.

But there’s more freedom than fear. Freedom from having to maintain an image that no longer fits. Freedom to explore without needing to excel. Freedom to surprise myself. Freedom to become whoever I’m becoming without needing to know who that is yet.

Today’s Choice

Today, choose to keep becoming. Not in some dramatic, burn-it-all-down way. But in small, quiet ways. Try something you’ve been curious about. Say something you’ve been thinking. Release one identity that’s gotten too tight.

Remember: You’re not too old to become. You’re not too established, too tired, too anything. Becoming isn’t just for the young. In fact, midlife becoming might be the most authentic kind—because it’s chosen, not required. It’s internal, not performed. It’s about revelation, not construction.

I’m 61 and still becoming. Still unfolding. Still discovering who else I might be under all these layers I’ve worn. And honestly? This might be the most exciting becoming yet—because this time, I’m becoming for me.