but as an adult, I had no clue what to label it. A rip in the fabric of time? Too Twilight Zone for me. I was too straight-laced for that kind of silliness. One evening I teetered on the brink of forty-five, middle aged and determined not to think about it. I guess my life had been successful, depending on what one would gauge success on. Growing up, I swore I would never, ever sit at a desk eight hours a day. I wanted to be outside in the fresh air, creating beautiful landscapes, and digging my fingers in the soft earth to transform a disorganized plot of land into my own work of art. Best laid plans and all that. As Director of Human Resources at Piper Clemmons International, I not only had a desk, I resided in a corner office with a view, and a floor full of underlings who reported to me. An eight-hour day often turned into twelve. But I made more money than I believed possible, lived in a fabulous penthouse with Bob, my equally, if not more, successful husband, everything I wanted at my fingertips.
