Once upon a time, back when I was about 32, I thought I knew how my life was going to turn out. I had just been promoted to full partner in a busy OB/GYN practice in San Diego, where I planned to work for the next 35 years before I retired on my big phat 401K and settled down on the beach to paint for a few years before I died.

You know what they say about the best laid plans.

When I was in my early 30’s I had a young, highly spirited Golden Retriever and I learned that she needed to run in order to have any semblance of calm for the rest of the day. (That’s a picture of us before a race day.)

I’ve really gotten into women’s issues lately but in the process I’ve realized I’m not a feminist. I’m not sure I ever was, but now I’m sure I’m not! I’m a Feminista! There have been various “waves” of feminism , which make distinctions in the category of “promote women over (blank)”. The blank could be men, the system, everything else… it doesn’t matter. To me it all says, give us rights and opportunities because we’re women, we have great things to offer and you need us.

I used to think I was weak n' needy for wanting my "big break."

I dreamed of being discovered. I toyed with the willingness to enter some Svengali deal where an agent dude or silver foxy dada would see my raw talent and shape me into a formidable star--a fresh new voice on the scene. I longed for Someone Really Important to give me a Yes that would change my life.