Welcome to Your Aging Games Era

Why our in-between seasons (a.k.a. menopause) are our most powerful.

A robin is building her nest on my back porch this spring, and I’m just about as obsessed with her progress as I am with understanding this new season of my own life. The male robin started the job—poking around with a haphazard stack of grasses—and when I thought they’d abandoned ship, the female swooped in and got to work. Classic. I almost want to set up a Robin Cam, like those people with neighbor goats or local scenic overlooks on livestream. If I’m burgundy-lipped with satisfaction and a glass of wine in hand while I watch? Well, that’s my personal twist on the “grandma hobby” trend—and yes, I’m loving every minute.

I'm dubbing this spring my “grandma hobby era.” I’m birding, knitting, tending to my garden, and learning about Italian wine. Why? Because it simply feels GOOD. I’m letting myself be delighted by everyday wonders—watching new life unfold, teaching myself something intricate and slow, like knitting and studying for my Master Naturalist certificate.

Women’s lives ebb and flow in ways our mothers and grandmothers might recognize, but the magnifying glass is so much bigger now. Every scroll shows us our own faces reflected, compared, altered, and weighed against impossible standards—even ones we’d never choose for ourselves. I’ve noticed: I’m harder on myself than my mother ever was. And her whole life, she was laser-focused on her weight and staying “healthy”—but her definition was shaped by her time, her circumstances.

Here’s the truth: comparison and self-criticism sneak up on us, whether we’re 29, 49, or 59. But I am tired of the myth that fading is inevitable. Life is a spiral path shaped by how many times we Dare to step off and wander into the wild corners—Detours that give us a new perspective. It’s not about ticking off achievements or reaching the same milestones as someone else. It’s about how we show up for ourselves in each new era.

The past month, I've been testing new ads for Dare to Detour on Instagram. The caption of one goes: “When was the last time you did something for yourself?”—and wow, did it strike a nerve. Some people bristled, but I think it’s because the question feels audacious in a culture that so often tells women that sacrifice is a virtue and self-care is selfish. But here’s what I’ve learned after a few glorious Detours of my own: Every transition is a liminal space, soft and open and uncertain. These “in-between” times—post-divorce, menopause, post-career shift, post-whatever—aren’t11 about holding our breath until normal returns. They’re invitations. They let us loosen the rules and try new things, find fresh joy, and lay claim to our own becoming.

Amidst my rabbit-hole Instagram scrolling, I watched a Reel about menopause that changed my day. Did you know that only a handful of mammals go through menopause, and in each of those animal cultures, the elder females become the leaders? They’re the wayfinders, the holders of wisdom, the memory keepers. The Reel ended with these words: “You are not fading. You’re awakening. Welcome to your Aging Games Era.”

Don’t you just love that? The Aging Games Era—not about shrinking or sidelining, but about awakening to a new kind of leadership, wisdom, and courage. This is not the end of relevance, creativity, or joy. It’s a beginning.

Maybe you haven’t picked up a set of knitting needles in years, or birding seems dull on paper, or you think, “I’m not that kind of woman.” Well, neither was I, until now. And here’s what I want you to know: This era? It is YOURS to claim. Fill your cup. Watch the robins. Toast the sunset with a friend or in delicious solitude. Do something—anything—that is just for you, even if the world questions it. Especially if the world questions it.

We are not fading, Darlings. We are awakening. And every day is a new game. Lace up your sneakers, pour your wine, and let yourself step fully into all the wisdom and wonder you’ve worked so damn hard to gather. That’s the Aging Games Era.

Come join me. I’ll save a seat on the porch.

xo,
Sheryl