Sometimes the things we long for aren’t about the thing itself—they’re about finally giving ourselves permission to live.
There are cars… and then there are cars that represent something much bigger.
At 63, I finally crossed something off my bucket list: taking a road trip in a Mustang convertible.
Was it about the car? Yes… but not really.
The Mustang wasn’t simply transportation. It was permission.
Permission to splurge on myself without guilt. Permission to choose joy over practicality. Permission to say, “Why not me?”
For most of my life, my decisions revolved around responsibility. There were mortgages to pay, a family to prioritize, groceries to buy, retirement to prepare for, and a hundred other sensible reasons to put my own wishes on hold. Somewhere along the way, dreams quietly became “someday.”
That isn’t to say Pierre and I didn’t treat ourselves. We did. We travelled, celebrated milestones, and created wonderful memories together. But like so many people, there were still little dreams and indulgences that always seemed easy to postpone. They didn’t feel necessary. There would always be another opportunity… later.
The truth is, later has a way of arriving much sooner than we expect.
The older I get, the more I realize that dreams don’t have to be extravagant to matter. Sometimes they’re as simple as driving with the top down, feeling the sun on your face, your favourite music playing, and nowhere to be except exactly where you are.
The Mustang represented freedom, yes—but it also represented confidence. It reminded me that I no longer need to justify every indulgence or explain every choice. Some experiences are valuable simply because they make us feel alive.
How many dreams do we leave parked because we worry about what others might think? Or because we’ve spent so many years taking care of everyone else that treating ourselves feels selfish?
Who cares what others think?
At this stage of my life, I’ve learned that joy doesn’t require permission from anyone else.
This road trip wasn’t about pretending to be younger. It was about embracing exactly who I am today—a woman who has worked hard, loved deeply, weathered loss, learned resilience, and finally understands that creating beautiful memories is just as important as paying the bills.
Maybe that’s what a bucket list is really for.
Not a list of things to do before we die, but a reminder to truly live while we’re here.
So yes, it was a Mustang convertible.
But what I was really driving was possibility.
And maybe that’s what this next chapter is all about.
Now you know how I felt when I drove my red Mustang ll. In 1968, my budget allowed me a four cylinders, far from the powerful Mustang so loved by the young crowd of the sixties. But it gave me joy none the less. I am sure you will feel the same. Enjoy.