Sherri Weidman is the founder of My Ageless Best, a lifelong marketer, storyteller, and second-act entrepreneur exploring what it means to thrive through transitions. After decades in leadership roles — from nonprofit CEO to internet marketing and reselling — Sherri now brings a grounded, real-world approach to wellness, aging with purpose, and learning modern tools like AI without the hype.
Having spent many years in Naples, Florida before relocating to Louisville, Kentucky to be closer to family, she writes about reinvention, resilience, and the beauty of building a meaningful life in your later chapters. Her work blends personal narrative with practical insight, reminding readers that growth is always possible and that a chaotic transition often becomes the start of a better story.
I frequently use AI for help with financial matters. Today that meant car maintenance.
My car is due for an oil change, a new air filter, and a new cabin filter. So I called the repair shop that most recently did maintenance on my car. I trusted them. They were less expensive than the dealership, and I felt like they did honest work.
Their quote came back at $245.76.
Something about that seemed kind of high to me. I had even asked about that price on the phone, with the shop explaining that cabin filters are hard to install. They’re in unusual positions, he said, and they take longer.
Not convinced, I gave ChatGPT the quote and asked what it thought.
It immediately pointed to the cabin filter charge as being out of line. I told it what the guy at the shop had said about the filter being hard to replace because of where it was located.
ChatGPT said, not in a Mazda CX-5.
That was new information I would never have known otherwise.
I asked ChatGPT to find some highly rated auto maintenance businesses near me. It found three and recommended one above the others. I called that one.
Their price for the same work was about $135.
That’s roughly $111 less.
I pay about $20 a month for ChatGPT.
Today it shaved $111 off the price I was quoted for my next car bill.
When I first heard about Muse, Meta’s new AI agent, my reaction was pretty much, no thanks.
Facebook already seems to know a little too much about me. You know how you look at something online and suddenly there’s an ad for it in your Facebook feed? I wasn’t particularly interested in giving Meta even more information it could use to lead me down more rabbit holes.
But I figured I should at least find out what Muse was all about and how it was different from the AI I was already using. So I watched a few videos. One showed a mother whose Muse-created newsletter arrived each morning for her family to read at the breakfast table. I also listened to Mark Zuckerberg talk about using Muse with his children.
I thought that would have been fabulous at another stage of my life, but it wasn’t exactly my life now.
I’ve been working for some time on four areas of my life that I want to move forward. Sometimes when you’re trying to create a new habit, the steps forward aren’t all that clear. One of mine wasn’t developing the way I hoped.
What Changed My Mind
That’s when the light bulb went off.
What if I gave that one to Muse?
I gave Muse the goal and asked it to help me figure out how to work on it.
What evolved was my own version of that morning newsletter—a daily action list. Muse gives me things to read, YouTube videos to watch, questions to think about and assignments to do.
As I used it, I kept thinking of ways to make it work better for me. At first Muse was simply giving me resources, and I found myself going back and forth trying to remember what I had already read or watched.
My Daily Practice with Muse
So I asked Muse to turn them into a checklist.
Now I can check things off as I complete them and see my progress. It sort of gamified the whole thing. It feels less like work when I watch those check marks add up. Muse has also become a little like an accountability partner.
But the daily list isn’t just a list of things to get done. Each reading, video, question or assignment gives me a little more insight into the goal I’m trying to develop.
And because Muse keeps putting it in front of me every day, it’s pulling something I’ve chosen to work on into my orbit.
I almost passed on Muse simply because it came from Meta. But I took a second look, and found it very useful.
Want to try this yourself? Here’s a simple way to start with Muse.
There’s a stage of life where nothing is wrong, exactly—but something feels slightly out of alignment. The way we eat, the way our homes function, the way our days flow no longer match who we are now. This is a story from a moment like that, when I slowed down long enough to think out loud, reconsider what I already had, and gently reshape my space to support the life I’m actually living.
I wasn’t 100% gung ho about reorganizing the kitchen, and the thought of it kept me awake.
In the early hours of the morning, I talked though my kitchen with a digital assistant that helped me notice patterns – every cabinet and drawer, talking out what to keep, what to move, and how to shape my kitchen for the way I actually live now. I described where things were, what I used, what I didn’t, and what felt like friction every time I opened a door.
By the time we finished mapping it, I felt steadier—and finally ready to rest.
The Brunch Bowl That Fueled the Day
When I eventually made my way to the kitchen later that morning, it wasn’t really breakfast anymore. It was more like a calm, intentional brunch. I needed something that would carry me through the physical work ahead. My daughter was coming later to help me reorganize, and I wanted to feel grounded before the lifting, sorting, and decision-making began.
I told my AI what kind of day it was shaping up to be and what kind of energy it would require. It translated that into a recipe that was light, sustaining, and quietly satisfying. Nothing fancy. Just the right balance of fuel and comfort.
As I stirred the berries through the yogurt, I realized this is what it looks like when I use technology as a thinking partner.
It doesn’t tell me what to do. It listens. It interprets. It keeps track of my nutrition quietly in the background and helps me see the next right step—whether I’m planning meals, reorganizing my home, or building my small business.
By the time my daughter arrived, I wasn’t anxious anymore.
Mapping the Kitchen
I had a plan—not a rigid checklist, but a calm internal map of what mattered, what didn’t, and what could wait. The kitchen no longer felt like a puzzle with too many options. It felt like a space ready to be shaped.
We started where the friction lived.
Cabinets that once supported a life of entertaining—rows of wine glasses, cocktail tools, and party supplies—were gently reassigned. Not discarded in a rush, but re-zoned with respect. What I actually used every day moved into easy reach. What belonged to an earlier chapter found a quieter home or went into a donation box. A few beautiful pieces stayed, not because I might need them, but because I liked them.
Reassigning Space with Intention
One under-counter cabinet, in particular, changed purpose. It had been dedicated to wine and entertaining supplies—things that once made sense for a more social, hosting-oriented season of my life. But that setup no longer reflected how I live or use my kitchen now. Reclaiming that space for practical things—quietly shifted the feel of the entire kitchen. The room began to support my current needs instead of preserving an old setup.
When Space Reflects the Life You’re Living
That small change made me think about how easily we hold on to space for lives we’re no longer living. Not because we’re attached to the objects themselves, but because we’re keeping room for a version of ourselves we might return to someday—just in case. It’s the same impulse that keeps multiple sizes of clothes hanging in a closet, waiting for a future body or a past one. Over time, those “just in case” choices add up. They ask more from our homes, more from our energy, and sometimes more space than we truly need.
Even the countertops shifted—from surfaces that quietly accumulated clutter to defined stations that supported my rhythms. Coffee and tea where mornings begin. Appliances I actually use kept visible without apology. Prep space left intentionally open, not empty, but ready.
What Changed — and Why It Matters
Nothing dramatic happened. No before-and-after shock photos. No minimalist purge.
And yet—by the end of the process, the kitchen felt different.
Lighter. Quieter. More cooperative.
What surprised me most was how physical the relief was. My shoulders dropped. Decisions stopped stacking up in my head. I wasn’t managing my kitchen anymore—it was supporting me.
Organization isn’t about perfection. It’s about reducing resistance.
When your environment matches your real life—your appetite, your energy, your age, your values—everything takes less effort. Eating better feels easier. Cooking feels less taxing. Even rest comes more naturally.
A Different Kind of Intelligence
This is what working with AI looks like in my real life.
It isn’t about automation for its own sake. It’s about having a steady partner who can hold the details while I listen to my body, my space, and my intuition.
Together, we didn’t just plan a kitchen. We reclaimed a rhythm.
And that bowl of yogurt and berries? It didn’t just fuel the work.
It marked the moment I stopped trying to live like a former self—and started living for my best self again.
THE BRUNCH BOWL THAT FUELED THE DAY Simple, sustaining, and intentionally balanced
Cottage cheese (2%): 100 g Fage 2% plain Greek yogurt: 80 g Trader Joe’s Berry Cherry Blend (frozen): 56 g (weigh frozen; thaw slightly) Chia seeds: 1 teaspoon Crushed walnuts: 1 tablespoon (about 7 g) Cinnamon and vanilla extract: to taste
Better yet: Build it in a clear glass or stemless wine glass to showcase the layers—a small luxury in the middle of a busy, physical day.
When I packed up my life in Naples, Florida and moved to Louisville, Kentucky at the end of 2024, I imagined a graceful transition. New city, new routines, new chapter. I am, after all, a systems person — someone who appreciates order, efficiency, and workflows that make sense.
What I did not imagine was stepping into the Twilight Zone of public services, where every system seemed to be buckling under its own weight, and where the most reliable element of my daily life would turn out to be the barometric pressure.
But let’s start at the beginning.
ACT ONE: The USPS Twilight Zone
My small business depends on USPS, and the postal system in Naples ran like a dream. If a substitute carrier missed a pickup, I could stroll in the back door of my local post office, hand my package to a smiling clerk, and be wished a lovely day.
So imagine my surprise when, here in Louisville, my eBay packages began disappearing into the ether. Pickups were regularly missed and even marked as “completed” when they had never been touched. The local post office seemed allergic to accountability. Supervisors were never “in.” Staff never knew who to call. People shrugged a lot.
It didn’t take long to realize this was a systemwide issue. The problems were in the media, whistleblowers were speaking up, and even our Congressman weighed in — all without a meaningful official response.
And then, slowly, the chaos eased.
Whether it was internal reorganization, staffing changes, or just the natural cycle of a strained system, things began improving. I got a new mail carrier named Trey — cheerful, punctual, meticulous. He leaves me little notes like, “Got it, Ms. Sherri,” when he collects my packages.
One day, after picking up a tiny ceramic mailman figurine at Goodwill, I caught him at the door and handed it to him. His whole face lit up. He tucked it into his pouch as if it were a treasure.
And just like that, Louisville redeemed itself a little.
ACT TWO: The DMV That Time Forgot
First, let’s review Kentucky’s motor vehicle rules:
You have 30 days to get a new driver’s license.
You have 15 days to register your car.
You cannot register your car until after you get your Kentucky license. Huh?
This alone could be a comedy sketch. But it gets better.
When I attempted to follow these rules, Louisville’s DMV system had collapsed so thoroughly that:
Lines stretched around buildings in the freezing cold
People were kept outside
A worker barked orders like a drill sergeant
Appointments vanished the moment they opened
And yes — there was even an incident involving gunfire in the lines at one point.
By then, it was clear: Louisville’s DMV wasn’t just overwhelmed — it was in crisis.
At one point I drove to the main branch to check things out in person. A staffer marched up and down the curb shouting instructions, telling people they couldn’t come inside yet, exactly where to stand, and generally giving off the energy of someone guarding the last lifeboat on the Titanic.
I lasted about ten minutes in that non-moving line before giving up and returning home.
Louisville simply wasn’t going to allow me to become a legal resident anytime soon. The system was too overloaded.
The escape route? Drive an hour to Frankfort — which had available appointments.
So I did. And finally — months after moving, in the spring — I got my Kentucky driver’s license.
Then I had to begin the separate process of getting my Kentucky plates, because unlike Florida, where everything happens efficiently under one roof, Kentucky prefers to make it a scavenger hunt.
At this point, I had been driving around with Florida plates long past the “legal” window, hoping no policeman pulled me over and forced me to explain that I had been trying — genuinely — but Kentucky wouldn’t let me follow Kentucky’s own rules.
ACT THREE: My Arm Joins the Circus
Meanwhile, my body staged its own rebellion.
My right arm began hurting — badly. Daily aching, stiffness, weakness. I worried something serious was happening.
Trying to get into a doctor? Long waits.
Everything was booked, not taking new patients, or delayed by months.
It wasn’t until much later that I discovered the culprit to my arm pain was barometric pressure drops and bone-dry winter air.
My new weather station helps keep me on track.
It wasn’t just the weather that needed to settle — I did too. My body had moved to Kentucky long before my habits did, and I had to learn how to live here. Florida had never asked anything of me seasonally; Kentucky demanded adjustments..
Even my own internal “system” needed a reboot.
THE SYSTEMS PERSON IN THE SYSTEM DESERT
This was perhaps the greatest internal struggle:
I had moved from Naples — the land of smooth workflows and functioning systems — into a place where every process seemed to be designed by someone drawing steps out of a hat.
Meanwhile I’m the kind of person who loves a good checklist.
So there I was:
USPS in meltdown
DMV in chaos
Medical access in gridlock
Weather sabotaging my arm
No plates
No license
No clarity
And I kept thinking: Is this real life?
RESOLUTION: KENTUCKY REDEEMS ITSELF
Slowly — and quietly — things stabilized.
My arm pain went away with the humidity of spring and summer. Doctors were found. The DMV sorted itself out. My packages began to move again. Trey became a bright spot in my daily routine. My apartment began to feel like home. My walking routes grew familiar.
And most importantly:
I am just a few minutes from my daughter, my son-in-law, and my granddaughters — the real anchors that made every challenge worth it.
Kentucky didn’t welcome me with open arms at first.
But it gave me something better: proximity to the people who matter most. Family dinners, graduations, quick visits, unplanned moments — things I couldn’t have in Naples.
Kentucky is eccentric, imperfect, and rough around the edges… but it’s also the place where I get to see my granddaughters, where my daughter and son-in-law are just a short drive away, and where the people — from family to a mailman named Trey — became the quiet gift in the middle of the chaos.
I made it. And now, Kentucky is where I’m building my next chapter.
Because sometimes the moves that feel the most chaotic end up giving you the best stories — and bring you closer to the people you love.
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My Ageless Best is a space where I’m sharing the things that shape this season of my life: learning, evolving, becoming… and discovering what it means to live with more ease, purpose, and curiosity every day.
You’ll find reflections, stories, and practical insights from my own journey — from health and habits to thrifting adventures, creativity, and everything we learn along the way. My hope is that something here encourages you, comforts you, or helps you feel a little more at home in your own life.
Thanks for stopping by. I’m just getting started, and I’m glad you’re here for the beginning.
