My fifty-year high school reunion is coming up in November, and it has me thinking about my life. Where is everyone now? What have they done with the fifty years that slipped by in what feels like the blink of an eye?
When I need to make sense of something this big, I write.
When I graduated from high school, I did it on the sly. I skipped the whole cap-and-gown ceremony that fills social media feeds today. Instead, I quietly packed my bags, headed to Tallahassee, and enrolled at Florida State University. I wanted to graduate early and start college, so I did.
Just like that.
My parents, who always encouraged independence, trusted me enough to let me follow my own path. Looking back, I realize that moment set the tone for my life. When I decided to become a flight attendant, I did it. When I decided to move to Colombia decades later, I did that too.
Just like that.
Maybe that’s been the story of my life. I didn’t follow the expected path, but followed the one that felt right to me. As this reunion gets closer, I’m not just wondering where everyone else ended up. I also appreciate the unexpected road that brought me to exactly where I am today.
While I was in college, I made good grades and did what my parents expected of me. But if I’m being honest, dancing was still the most important thing on my mind.
Saturday Night Fever had hit the theaters, and disco fever had taken over Florida State University. I spent my nights with a great group of friends dancing at Big Daddy’s, where we thought life would always be that carefree.
I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, so college was as much about growing up as it was about getting an education. More than anything, it was my first taste of freedom. After years of living with rules and expectations, being on my own felt like heaven.
Then life threw me a curveball.
I got sick, had to take an incomplete, and returned home. Surprisingly, I wasn’t worried. I figured I’d recover, work for a while, and head back to FSU. I took a job as a receptionist while I waited to re-enroll.
But my mother had other plans.
She suggested I apply to be a stewardess. Yes, that’s what we were called back then.
Little did I know that by spring, just after my twentieth birthday, I would be the youngest person in Delta Air Lines’ training class.
Sometimes the biggest chapters of our lives begin with someone else’s suggestion.
At the time, there were only two airlines that hired flight attendants at age twenty, and Delta took me into its family. I applied the moment I was eligible, and the rest, as they say, is history.
Getting hired wasn’t easy. Even then, Delta was known for being incredibly selective, and earning a spot in a training class was something to be proud of. After surviving the rigorous training program, I traded textbooks for wings.
For the first time in my life, I was completely on my own. I was earning a good salary, traveling the country, and making my own decisions. It was the career I had dreamed about for as long as I could remember, and suddenly, I was living it.
Looking back, I realize that the seventeen-year-old girl who quietly left home for college had no idea she was about to begin the adventure that would shape so much of the next chapter of her life.
Living with a house full of other “stews” in College Park, Georgia, was an adventure all its own. After training, we were all assigned to Delta’s Atlanta base, and suddenly, we were a bunch of twenty-somethings learning how to navigate adulthood while flying all over the country.
It was an exciting, unpredictable life.
I can still picture us lounging by the apartment pool on our days off, our beepers never far from reach. At any moment, one of them could go off, and we’d jump up, throw on our uniforms, grab the suitcases that were always packed, and head to the airport.
That was life on reserve.
We never knew where we’d be flying that day—or even if we’d make it back home that night. But at twenty years old, that uncertainty wasn’t stressful. It was exhilarating. Every beep held the promise of another adventure, another city, another story waiting to happen.
It was a wonderful way to earn a living because I had so much time off. Flying back then was very different from what it is today. It’s still an admirable profession with wonderful benefits, but the pace and the pressure have changed dramatically.
When I signed in for a trip during those first months, I was on reserve and usually paired with senior flight attendants who quietly continued my training. They showed us the little things you could never learn in a classroom; the tricks of the trade, how to handle every situation, and how to take care of passengers with confidence and grace.
Sometimes we’d end up in San Francisco. Other times it was Los Angeles. The really exotic layovers usually belonged to the senior “mamas,” but every trip was an adventure, and those experienced flight attendants took us junior newbies under their wings.
When I wasn’t flying, I was usually out with my friends, most of whom were flight attendants too. Let’s face it… it was one great big party, both in the air and on the ground.
With all that time off, I traveled whenever I could. Europe. Japan. New York City. Los Angeles. The world really was my oyster, and I couldn’t wait to see what was around the next corner.
Marriage wasn’t even on my radar. Adventure was.
And I had found it in a career I truly loved.
After Atlanta, I transferred to Miami. Once again, I found myself living in a questionable apartment complex this time it was in Kendall. But honestly, none of us cared. It was full of other flight attendants, close to all the trendy spots, and life revolved around flying and having fun.
We went out constantly. Flight attendants were welcome at all the best clubs, and we knew exactly which nights were the ones not to miss.
By then, I was finally holding a schedule called a “line” in airline lingo. Imagine getting paid to work only three or four days a week! Even better, we could bid trips with our friends, so many flights felt more like hanging out than going to work.
We really were our own bosses once those aircraft doors closed.
I still remember the excitement when the first L-1011 arrived at our Miami base. To us, it was pure luxury. It even had an elevator! The service carts glided effortlessly down the aisles, and on longer flights we’d serve full meals, complete with ice cream sundaes, fruit, and cheese. Cleanup was easy because everything stacked neatly back into the carts.
That was a far cry from my first flights on the DC-9. Back then, we carried heavy trays loaded with ice and drinks up and down the aisle, hoping the ride stayed smooth. If turbulence hit, it became a balancing act. We’d barely finish service before racing to our jump seats for landing.
The stretch DC-8 had its own challenges. We worked assembly-line style, passing trays down the aisle while someone in the galley shoved them back into narrow metal compartments as fast as they came in.
By the end of the flight, we’d often be wearing more barbecue sauce than the passengers had eaten.
Looking back, it wasn’t glamorous every minute of every day. It was hard work. But we were young, we loved what we were doing, and somehow even the messy days became some of my favorite memories.
Fast forward a few years, and my life was full of close friendships, much like it had been in high school. We bid our schedules together, flew together whenever we could, and spent our days off together. We were always doing something fun.
People often ask if I wanted to settle down back then. The truth is, I wasn’t in any hurry.
Looking back, I realize what an incredible lifestyle I had created for myself. I had a career I loved, enough seniority to enjoy a great schedule, wonderful friends, and the freedom to live life on my own terms. I didn’t need anyone else to build a good life.
My dad found me the perfect little studio apartment in Fort Lauderdale, it was a big upgrade from my Kendall days. I bought myself a sporty little car, and I honestly felt like I was living the life I’d dreamed about as a young girl.
Of course, I dated. One of my boyfriends was Frank Diaz, founder and producer of the group Exposé. We’re still good friends all these years later, which says a lot about the kind of person he is.
Then one of my best friends introduced me to the man who would become my first husband.
Even then, I wasn’t rushing toward marriage. If anything, I was perfectly content with the life I had already built. But sometimes life has its own timetable, and before long, I found myself engaged… and eventually married.
I was my most important investment in life. Everyone should invest in themselves, and if someone comes along who invests with you, that is even better!
One of the greatest gifts my airline career gave me was independence. Every woman should know what it feels like to stand on her own two feet, support herself, and realize she doesn’t need anyone else to build a happy life. If she chooses to share that life with someone, it should be because she wants to not because she has to.
When I did get married, my first husband wasn’t the best choice for me. If only we’d had Google and internet sleuthing back then! I probably would have asked a few more questions before saying “I do.”
He was a good person with flaws, as we all have, but he also had legal troubles that made our life together far more difficult than I had imagined.
Even so, I don’t look back with regret.
That chapter made me stronger than I ever thought I could be. It taught me resilience, confidence, and the importance of trusting my instincts.
During those years, we lived in Newport, Rhode Island, where I met Shannon, who would become my best friend for life. I also enjoyed a wonderful lifestyle and continued to build a career that gave me opportunities most people only dream about.
Looking back now, I realize that every chapter, even the difficult ones were shaping me into the woman I would eventually become.
That chapter came to an end when my first husband went to prison for a white-collar crime. I stuck by him through his prison term, but when he came home he wasn’t the same person I married.
But because I had built a career before I ever got married, I wasn’t starting over with nothing. I had my job, a condo that became mine in the divorce, and, most importantly, my daughter, Misha, the greatest gift to come from that marriage and the love of my life.
My parents, as always, stood beside me and were ready to help in any way they could. Knowing they were there gave me comfort, but it was also when I realized I had to take the reins of my own life.
Looking back, I can see that my independence wasn’t just something I enjoyed when I was young, it became the foundation that carried me through one of the most difficult seasons of my life.
Sometimes the choices we make in our twenties don’t just shape our happiest moments. They become the very things that help us survive our hardest ones.
I was a single mom, but I was able to build a good life without feeling overwhelmed. I had a nice condo on the water in Fort Lauderdale, a cute little car, a career I loved, and those wonderful friends who worked with me and played with me.
Most importantly, I had my daughter, Misha. She was my pride and joy and the center of my world.
As I started over with a young child, I didn’t feel the pressure to find another husband. I had already checked those boxes. I had been married. I had my precious daughter. I wasn’t looking for someone to complete my life because my life already felt complete.
So when I dated, I never carried that desperate energy that so many people feel after a divorce. My attitude was more like, “Been there, done that.”
If the right person came along, wonderful. If not, I knew I’d be just fine.
Looking back, I realize that confidence came from something I had learned years earlier as a young flight attendant. Independence isn’t just about earning your own paycheck. It’s about knowing that, no matter what life throws at you, you’ll find a way forward.
I have never been much of a planner or someone who constantly looks toward the future. In other words, I’m spontaneous.
Sometimes I wonder if that’s been one of my greatest strengths or one of my biggest flaws. Looking back, I realize I’ve landed on my feet more times than I probably should have. Decisions that could have ended in disaster somehow became some of the best chapters of my life.
Especially the decision to move to another country.
Spontaneity is a backpack I’ve carried my entire life, and I imagine I’ll still be carrying it until the day I die.
When I married for the second time and welcomed my wonderful son, life seemed perfect. I had everything I thought I wanted; a loving husband, two beautiful children, and a career that allowed me to work part-time as a flight attendant while still being present for my family. I had the best of both worlds: I could be a working mom and a stay-at-home mom.
Life doesn’t stand still. It keeps moving while we’re busy believing everything will stay the same. We never see the next chapter coming.
I certainly didn’t.
After spending most of my life in Florida, I never could have imagined that one day I’d pack up everything I owned, leave the life I’d always known, and begin again in Colombia.
But that’s the thing about spontaneity.
Sometimes it quietly becomes the road that leads you home.
Jumping forward to now, I have been asked to help with my 50th high school reunion. It got me thinking that I really am in a place I never thought I would be when I graduated all those years ago. Not just geographically, but emotionally and spiritually too.
When I arrived at Florida State University in the spring of 1976, many of my high school classmates were getting ready for prom and graduation. I had already moved on. While they were celebrating the end of high school, I was discovering college life.
And what a life it was.
I had already been to enough proms to last a lifetime, so I never felt like I was missing out. Instead, I was dancing until dawn with my new college friends, walking runway shows as a hair model, and finally learning how to tame my wild curly hair into a style that actually worked. It was the disco era, and I embraced every glittering minute of it.
Whenever I went home for breaks, my parents could barely keep track of the young men who called or stopped by to see me. It was a fun, carefree time, and I was loving every minute of my newfound independence.
But the best thing that happened during my first semester wasn’t the parties or the fashion.
It was meeting Mark.
The first photo in this blog, standing on the roof of Smith Hall, captures a seventeen-year-old girl just beginning her journey. The photos that follow show how I grew into someone who loved fashion, music, and expressing herself without apology. Mark had so much to do with that transformation.
He introduced me to a world filled with disco, style, confidence, and joy. We’d spend hours practicing our dance moves, trying to perfect every spin and step. Thanks to him, I’m still a pretty good dancer today.
More importantly, he taught me that life should have a little flair. That it’s okay to enjoy fashion. That confidence can be joyful instead of showy. He helped me become comfortable being exactly who I was.
Mark remained one of my dearest friends for the rest of his life. When he recently passed away, I lost someone who had been part of my story for nearly fifty years.
Even now, whenever I hear Donna Summer or the Bee Gees, I’m right back on that dance floor with him.
Some friendships never really end.
They simply become part of the soundtrack of your life.
He also named my daughter. One of my favorite memories of him still makes me smile.
I remember riding in a convertible with him, dressed in black capri pants and a black A-line top that hid my baby belly perfectly, a scarf tied around my head, and big black sunglasses. We were playing Basia through the car speakers, the soundtrack to so many good memories. We came up with her name. Mikel Cara, Misha.
What if I had known back then, like in Back to the Future, that I would one day be living in Colombia?
It sounds more like a Netflix series than real life.
Who would have guessed that I’d learn another language, buy a beautiful property in Colombia, and turn it into a thriving business… all in my fifties?
Life has a funny way of surprising us.
I write from my soul as time passes and life’s lessons become memories—some joyful, some heartbreaking.
I write as if I’m the only one who will ever read these words. But the truth is, I hope my son, my granddaughter, and the grandchildren I may never meet will read them one day and think, “Wow… Grandma was kind of a badass.”
Maybe that’s why this blog has meant so much to me over the years.
It helped me survive the greatest heartbreak of my life, the loss of my daughter. Writing grounded me and still does here in Colombia. I have found healing, purpose, and a life I never could have imagined.
I can’t help but wonder what that seventeen-year-old girl would think if she could see me now.
I think she’d be surprised.
I know I still am.
Because the best parts of my life were never the ones I planned.
I write about the life I never planned.
