I stood beside the lake, the sun glistening on the clear still water. I felt reborn. My husband and son accompanied me, supportive but still a bit skeptical of how much I'd changed.

It all began during a midlife crisis while reading a book on mindfulness. My therapist assigned it as homework– told me all my stress was from not being present in the moment. The engaging read led me to feel I could make meaningful change in my life. Something had to give and sure enough it did.

The words started to blur and I cleaned off my glasses. My eyes had recently started to go and this was my third prescription in just a few months time. Breathing on the lenses and wiping them on my shirt helped at first. The letters were clear but I just couldn't make the words out anymore.  I put down the book. I must be getting tired. 

Best take a nap, I thought. I'd never was much of a napper, but recently I'd found myself asleep in the darndest of places. On the sofa, under the sofa, at the foot of the bed, under the kitchen table. 

Just go with the flow I thought, recalling what I'd learned from the book. I did feel more at peace following the book's recommendations, more 'in the moment.' The more I practiced mindfulness the better I felt. Suddenly I didn't care that my son wasn't doing his homework or that my husband left the toilet seat up. In fact, I felt so thirsty one day I almost drank some of the toilet water. 

I must be cracking up, I thought.

But I felt so happy I didn't think too much about it. Colors seemed brighter, smells stronger, sounds sharper. 

"Are you sniffing my butt?" my husband asked me one morning in the bathroom.

"N-no," I stammered. "I just dropped a hair band somewhere," I said lying, feeling around on the floor behind him.

I felt alive. I shook my hips more and didn't worry about those extra perimenopausal hairs growing in weird places. 

"Mom, why is there so much hair on your feet?" asked my son.

"Just growing old son," I replied with a laugh. He wrinkled his nose and returned to his video game.

I grew strong. Somedays I would open the door and just sprint outside as fast as I could, down the front walk and into the street. My husband would call for me telling me to get back in the house, that the police would pick me up if I didn't put on some clothes.

I was free. 

I quit the university job I'd had for 17 years. I was tired of the department chair barking at us. I decided to bark back. I pissed on his desk.

I stopped talking to people. At first I ignored the bump growing at the base of my spine. Then it delighted me. I was happier than I imagined possible.

On the shore of the lake I was so excited, I started jumping up and down and drooling a little. My husband threw the ball several yards into the lake and I dove in with glee and swam after it. I'd become hairy enough that no one minded that I refused to put on clothes anymore.

My husband turned to my son, "You know your mother always fantasized about growing a tail and turning into an animal." They watched as I picked up the green tennis ball in my mouth and started paddling back to shore. "I just always thought she would turn into a cat."

My son nodded. "At least dogs you can take more places," he said. "But I don't like picking up dog poop."