It may not seem like much to you, but it was a big step for me.

“Meeting Wednesday 7:00,” the e-mail read.

“Sorry, can’t make it,” I replied.

Last week, for the first time in my sixty-five years, I bowed out of a meeting with no excuse except not wanting to go.

I’ve simplified my life because something scary happened to me last year. I stepped from my house into my garage, latched the door, and realized I’d left my tote bag behind. Going back to retrieve it, I could not remember how to unlock the door. We had lived in this house for fourteen years.

 I stared at the door with its two locks. There was the small, round plate above, and the handle with the keyhole below. I had locked only one. Which one was it? Which way to turn the key?

I finally got in. I grabbed my bag, let myself out—and could not recall how to re-lock the door. I turned the wrong latch, causing my husband to lock himself out later when he went to get something from the garage. It took a week before locking the door became natural again.

This might have been disconcerting to a thirty-year-old, but at sixty-four it was terrifying. “I’m not starting dementia,” I told myself. “It’s just stress.” My cat had cancer; I was scrambling to market my book; and I’d had words with a co-worker at the animal shelter where I volunteer. I had reason to be stressed, didn’t I?

So I vowed to reduce stress by streamlining my life. “I’ll devote more time to writing and less to other stuff,” I said. I also wanted more time with my husband. It’s hard to think about, but we‘re in our mid-sixties—how many more years do we have together?

I resigned from the management team at the shelter, although I still work there two days a week. I turned down some responsibilities—“Been there, done that, someone else’s turn.” But this was the first time I’d ever signed up for a project and then skipped a meeting I could have attended.

I’m a baby boomer woman, after all. I’m part of the first wave of would-be Supermoms. We aspired to excellence in marriage, careers, and child rearing, all at the same time. “It’s only sleep we’re missing,” we told ourselves as we moved on to yet another obligation. There are times when I’ve stressed myself out, made myself physically ill by making the “responsible” choice instead of doing what I wanted to do.

But now it’s time to stop thinking that way. I hate meetings. So I went out to dinner with my husband instead.

And by the way, the simplifying thing is working. I’ve never had another episode like the one with the locks.

Of course my husband, being a man, was singularly unimpressed when I told him about skipping the meeting. “What do you want, a medal?” he asked.

Yeah, I think I do.