I almost deleted it. At forty-seven, my "journeys" were mostly to the bathroom in the dark, trying not to stub my toe. But the word "Cougar" snagged my attention. Not the animal—the other kind. The kind my divorced friends, Karen and Denise, had turned into a part-time hobby.
I laughed out loud. Then I enrolled.
He looked up. His eyes were warm, curious. "Yeah? What got you?" my cougar courses
That was the real course. Not hunting. Not strategies. Just remembering that a cougar doesn't chase because she's hungry. She's patient because she knows—the right prey will always find its way to the warmth. I almost deleted it
We talked for two hours. About ghosts. About mothers. About the strange math of loving when you're older and know exactly what you're worth. He didn't flinch when I said I was forty-seven. He said, "Good. Then you know what you want." Not the animal—the other kind
We talked for twenty minutes. He was a marine biologist studying sea grass. He called me "insightful." I floated home.