If you’d asked me ten years ago what life at 45 would look like, I would’ve painted a picture that was, at best, wildly naive. I figured by now I’d have it all figured out: a successful corporate career, thriving relationships, and a rock-solid sense of self. I thought life would be one of those “paint-by-numbers” masterpieces my grandpa used to paint—structured, polished, and complete. Instead, here I am, staring at another blank canvas, one that’s begging for something more like abstract art. And honestly? I’m terrified and loving it all at the same time. The Messy Reality of Being Human Being “unfinished” isn’t just a phase or a stage…