by rantywoman

Several years ago I read Making Love: A Novel by Lucretia Stewart (  I found it intensely absorbing and emotionally wrenching.  I bought another book by the author, an illuminating nonfiction work entitled The Weather Prophet: A Caribbean Journey, last year and, being on vacation, am finally getting around to reading it.  Here is the author, at 40, p. 37:

I had thought that being forty would be somehow eventful, almost as if certain dread physical changes would take place on the day.  I might become a werewolf or some dark creature of the night.  Before I left England, I had been consumed with fear and unhappiness, not just about being forty but about what I had come to believe it would mean:  that I would never have children, that I would cease to be attractive, that the time of the possible would be lost to me forever, that my chance– for happiness, for love, for a certain kind of fulfilling and secure life–would be gone, that I would never be young again.  It was all depressingly predictable but none the less real for that.  I had begun– only partly in jest– to wish that I believed in reincarnation, so that I would have another chance, another chance to get it right.  When I fell in love in New York, it came as a wonderful surprise.  When he had put his arms around me in an apartment in wintry, downtown Manhattan, I had found that I had forgotten how to relax into an embrace.  But, now in the sunny Caribbean on my fortieth birthday, the memory of that embrace gave me courage.

I don’t believe the author ever had children, and I don’t think (but am not sure) she ever married, but in the book itself she goes on to further romance and adventure.  Overall I would say she has had an enviable, bold life, if a risky and insecure one.