Monday, November 27, 2017

Finding My Badass Self--In All Kinds of Places

Finding "Finding My Badass Self" next to Sedaris never gets old.
It continues to amaze me that Finding My Badass Self, the crazy little book I envisioned primarily as humor, often is not found in a library or bookstore’s humor section at all. It’s frequently shelved under memoir/biography or—surprisingly—under self-help.

In fact, Badass Self is listed tonight on Amazon as the #15 bestseller in “self-help/midlife.” Huh.

I’ll take that ranking, gladly. Why argue with sales?

Sure, several readers and friends have said my journey and words have inspired them to venture outside their own comfort zones. Some have embarked on their own “unbucket lists.” And, three women told me that by realizing the status quo isn’t always what we want or need, they finally found the courage to leave an unhappy relationship.

But many other readers have simply said they enjoyed laughing with me—and often at me. I’m OK with that, too.

When I first started visiting bookstores and libraries that had the book shelved under “self-help,” I wanted to correct that. But maybe a book doesn’t have to be pigeon-holed into one category. Maybe it can cross genres. Perhaps it offers a bit of different things to different people.

Humor or inspiration? Who knows? You tell me.

If you’ve read “Finding My Badass Self,” what made you laugh most? And what inspired or helped you? What category would you shelve the book under, in your personal library?

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

A Partridge Family Thanksgiving

In early December 2014, a group of friends and strangers joined me on a bar crawl in Milwaukee—on the Partridge Family Party Bus.

Sure, Keith Partridge and the rest of his television brood didn’t actually accompany us, but they were there in my heart—as they had remained ever since I was nine years old. Because I hadn’t been just a young teenybopper infatuated with David Cassidy. No, our relationship was SO much more.

When the Partridge Family came on the scene, I was first love-struck with the drummer, young Chris, who was closest to my age. But after Jeremy Gelbwaks was unceremoniously dropped after the first season and replaced by a different actor, I turned my attention and fully devoted my heart to David Cassidy.

Oh, David, how you made me swoon! Sure, you were a much older manchild, but you were everything I ever wanted as a fifth-grade girl. You were handsome, and sweet, and you sang to me every Friday night as if you knew me. I was sure, deep down, that you truly did.

Over the next few years, I bought every single Partridge Family album, plastered their posters over my bedroom walls, and joined their fan club. My favorite outfit at the time was a red jumper, just like Tracy Partridge wore in those early episodes. I spent hours in the basement of my family home, banging along on either a tambourine or on my sister’s cheap drum set as my favorite Partridge Family albums played on my cassette tape player.

And along the way, I envisioned my future with David Cassidy, as well as the rest of his fabulous, fabricated TV family.

When I look back on some of the happiest times of my life, they surely would include those preadolescent and carefree days of having David and The Partridge Family seem a part of my own family and my life.

And the music? Maybe it’s simply nostalgia or just maybe the music remains way underrated. All I know is I still appreciate the songs. I’ve kept a few Partridge Family CDs in my car and have listened to them long before I heard David was ill and possibly dying.

Childhood idols die, yet they live on in our hearts, in our memories, and sometimes in our music.

Today, when I listened to “I’ll Meet You Halfway,” I smiled as I remembered David Cassidy. I would have met him halfway, for sure. Hell, I would have traveled miles for the opportunity to tell him how I felt.

Thanks for everything, David.

Even after all these years, I think I love you.

Friday, October 27, 2017

Turn the Page

Over the past few months, I’ve been spending a lot of time in libraries.

I remain in awe of the architecture, particularly in an older structure. I enjoy the helpful attitude and enthusiasm of the librarians—I mean, why wouldn’t they be enthused? They have the best job ever! And then, there’s the books. Oh, the shelves and shelves of books—a free bounty for our browsing and borrowing.

Several months ago, someone asked me about the books and authors who most influenced me as a writer. I named several, with ease: those that awakened the fledgling writer in me as an eight year old girl as well as the fiction writers, memoirists, and humor essayists who still inspire me now.

Yet this also prompted me to recall those books that first made me a reader, too: picture books, paperbacks ordered through my grade school Scholastic flyers, and early chapter books.

I remembered, particularly, a single moment of raw reader excitement. I was six or so, newly able to tackle an early reader independently. On one of my weekly trips with my mother to the library, I checked out a book at the librarian’s suggestion. When we returned the following week, I told the librarian how very, very much I loved it.

She walked with me to the children’s section and pointed to a shelf. Waving her hand, she noted that it was just one of an entire series by the same author. I stared, wide-eyed, at a dozen or so books lined up there, simply waiting for me to take them home and escape into their stories.

It may have been one of the most joyous moments of my life.

For months, I have tried to remember the name of the author or the title of the book series. I knew it was about a family with a last name beginning with B. That’s all I could recall. After all, I had been only six or seven the last time I read one. I searched online, but with little else to go on, it was a futile quest.

Last week, out of nowhere, it suddenly came to me.

I discovered the books were no longer in print, so I ordered a couple from an online used book site.

When they arrived in mail, I picked one up. I brushed my fingers over the pebbly hard cover. I opened it up and paged through. And then, I instinctively sniffed the pages.

Within seconds, the musty book smell returned me to my childhood library, 50 years ago.

When I was little, I believed the library was the most magical place in the world.

Some things never, ever change.

Is there any better smell than that of an old library book? What are your most beloved childhood books?

Saturday, October 7, 2017

Badasslands: You Have to Live It Every Day

Public speaking is among those life experiences that still remains outside my comfort zone.

As an author with a new book, I have to do it anyway. A lot.

Speaking at book events has proven simultaneously exciting and intimidating. Like any challenges in life, I find it becomes easier and more successful the more times I put myself out there. As I mention in my book, the anticipation of what we fear is generally far worse than the reality. So far, speaking at book events has definitely proven that to be true.

And book events are less painful and weigh FAR more on the amazingly fun side when a reader in the audience holds up a sign like this.

Speaking in front of a crowd? A yay or a nay for you?

Friday, September 29, 2017

Seeing the Light(s)

When I first envisioned what would become “Finding My Badass Self,” I mostly hoped it would push my personal boundaries and shake up my life. I never expected it might nudge others to venture outside their own comfort zones or change their life in any way.

As delighted as I am that my story has invoked a few chuckles, I am also pleased it has prompted readers to reconsider aspects of their own life and to open the door when the winds of change—or else a breeze of pure serendipity—comes knocking.

This review isn’t necessarily the highest praise the book has received. (Whodathunk I was so punny? Well, surely when I had a colonoscopy. You need to find some way to laugh at that shit. Oops. Touché.)

But the reviewer’s note about how my journey encouraged her one night to embark on an impromptu and rewarding adventure was incredibly heartwarming to hear. I hope, as she mentions, that she will indeed hold onto the book and open it back up 20-30 years down the road, when she may need a little adventure in her life.

And if an untimely opportunity like heading out to see the Northern Lights ever comes your way? I hope every one of you will follow her lead.

Adventures and fulfilling experiences arrive in all kinds of packages. And you never know exactly what gift you’ll receive—or how unexpectedly gratifying it may prove to be—unless you unwrap it.

When's the last time you did something for the first time--especially when you were inclined NOT to?

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Lights, Camera, Anxiety

I've been a bit occupied with book promotion, and it appears this includes public speaking--and even TV.


But I'm pretty sure I heard somewhere that it's good to go outside your comfort zone...

Like most things, the anticipation has been worse than the reality. And my latest TV appearance at least went better than the time I ended up on 20/20 in a segment called "The Moochers."

You can watch it here.

What happened the last time you faced your fears--or faced a TV camera?

Monday, August 21, 2017

Cowgirl in the Stand

Reason #819 why I don't believe in coincidence:

My book cover for "Finding My Badass Self" was designed in January, with the cowgirl artwork provided through a stock photo my publisher bought the rights to use.

Realizing that the cowgirl figurine was probably an old toy or statue, I set off on a mission to find one. I have been searching the Internet for over six months and have never found anything similar except that photo.

On Saturday, in the midst of my book launch event, an old high school friend posted a picture on Facebook of a toy her husband found at an antique store. She recognized it immediately--but she had no idea I had been looking for one for months.

She brought it to me yesterday.

Nope. No such thing as a coincidence.

What do you believe in? Fate? Karma? Coincidence? Or just dumb luck?

Wednesday, August 9, 2017

Happening Now!

It's been four years in the making, and today my private stash of "Finding My Badass Self" arrived one week early--just happening to fall on national #bookloversday
One badass day indeed!

And, be sure to check out my new website, at to stay up to date on my upcoming events, published stories, and other news.

Hope to meet up with many of you soon. Thanks for following along!

Wednesday, August 2, 2017

Dream a Little Dream of You

A few folks have asked who I thought should play me--or with far greater interest, asked who should play my mother--in any movie or TV show based on my new book, Finding My Badass Self: A Year of Truths and Dares. (Have I mentioned the book is being released Aug. 15--in just two weeks?!)

Ahh, a movie or TV series. As if. But a girl can dream, yes?

The first time I was asked this, a couple years ago, I answered Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds. (Sigh. Insert major Sad Face here.) Today, when pressed by a friend, I said Holly Hunter (or maybe Lauren Graham) for me and Bette Midler for my mother, Glo.

But of course. Why not?

So that begs the bigger question: In a film or show about YOUR life, who should play YOU?

Saturday, July 1, 2017


As part of my book promotion, I was asked to list five authors or books that most influenced me or my writing. It proved to be a nearly impossible exercise, since I could name dozens.

But, when pressed, I finally came up with these:

NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES: When it came to female protagonists, Nancy Drew was surely the original badass. Independent, brilliant, and bold, she was everything my preadolescent self hoped to be. I started collecting the series when I was nine, and I gained a whole new appreciation for it decades later when I learned most early books were ghostwritten by a newspaper reporter named Millie Benson, who lived and continued to write--with not nearly the national fanfare she deserved--in my hometown of Toledo, Ohio.

THE OUTSIDERS (by S.E. Hinton): I first read The Outsiders when I was ten, and I went on to reread it at least 20 times. It was the single most influential book that inspired me to write. Her voice, her characters, and the story she wove still resonate with me, even as an adult reader. Connecting recently with the author on Twitter, and having her congratulate me on publishing Finding My Badass Self, was a teenage dream come true.

ERMA BOMBECK: Erma was one of the first female newspaper columnists to gain national exposure and respect, with writing that captured everyday family life in both a laughable and often poignant way. As I have come to discover through my involvement in the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop, she also continues to inspire humor and human interest writers across the world.

NORA EPHRON: To this day, I believe no one can write books and screenplays portraying the humor, heart, and essence of being a contemporary woman like Nora could. She was the voice of the "everywoman."

CARRIE FISHER: While best known to many as Princess Leia, it was Carrie's writing that most endeared her to me. With honesty, self-deprecation, and razor-sharp wit--and always the perfect turn of phrase--Carrie's writing taught me that even the weirdest or most cringe-worthy topics and situations are fodder for introspection and humor. Damn, do I miss her.

Your turn: Favorite writers or influential books you'd like to share?

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Goodreads Giveaway for "Badass Self" Now Underway

The Goodreads Giveaway for my upcoming book, Finding My Badass Self: A Year of Truths and Dares, is happening now! You can enter here:

It takes just a moment to enter for a chance to receive a free copy! As I've become so fond of saying about most opportunities in life (even some not so easy and pleasant as this): Why not?

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Book Signing Events Coming Your Way

I'm excited to provide a list of my first book signing events for Finding My Badass Self: A Year of Truths and Dares.

I will be adding these to the event section on my author page: The 52/52 Project-Sherry Stanfa-Stanley. (Have you 'liked' and followed that page yet? If not, please click over and do so!)

Saturday, Aug. 19
1 – 4 p.m.
Barnes & Noble
The Shops at Fallen Timbers
3100 Main St.

Thursday, Aug. 24
7 - 9 p.m.
Literati Bookstore
124 E. Washington

Saturday, Sept. 2
1 – 4 p.m.
Private Event

Saturday, Sept. 23
9 a.m. – 5 p.m.
Roche de Boeuf Festival

Saturday, Oct. 7
Time TBD
The University of Toledo Barnes & Noble Bookstore
1430 Secor Road

Saturday, Oct. 14 and Sunday, Oct. 15

While most of these first events are scheduled for the Toledo area, several others across the U.S. are in the works. Location ideas are welcomed! If any cities seem particularly popular among suggestions, I'll do my best--I'm always looking for an excuse for a road trip!

Stay tuned for future locations and dates. Hope to see you soon!

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

What We Are Taught and Never Forget

My sixth-grade bus pass. I had no idea of my life journey ahead.
Social media, particularly Facebook, provides a fabulous opportunity to connect with new readers and friends, as well as a way to reconnect with people from our past.

This one is especially dear to me--a note I received from my sixth-grade teacher, Mary Kasper, who is now my Facebook friend:

"Your writing talent continues to amaze me, Sherry. You have a great sense of humor and your style makes one feel like you're just sitting across the table..."

When she wasn't busy needing to reprimand me for talking during class--which as no great surprise was often--Mrs. Kasper was just as frequently encouraging my writing.

I still have a story I wrote for class, more than forty years ago, on which she wrote: "If you don't do something with all your talent, I'm going to come back and haunt you."

Fortunately, she doesn't need to haunt me. She is still around for me to thank today.

Teachers DO make a difference. I truly believe she was a major factor in setting me on this path in life. I'm so grateful.

Thank you for believing in me, Mrs. Kasper.

Any teachers you'd like to thank? Do it today.

Thursday, May 25, 2017


I received my first public review this week of Finding My Badass Self, on!

A book blogger, apparently receiving an advance reader copy through my publicist, wrote this:

"Writing with humor, humility and truth, the author decides to make her midlife anything but mundane with a series of personal challenges from the silly to the terrifying, from the introspective to the hysterical — and finds that life can be so much more when you open yourself up to the unexpected."

And, she rated it FIVE STARS! One of only 15 percent of all the 779 books she has reviewed to receive that rating!

Overjoyed! Thrilled! Ecstatic!

Thank you, Slone, whoever you are!

Shall I mention, again, that the book will be released Aug. 15 but is available for pre-order now at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Books-a-Million, or any of your favorite indie bookstores? No? You already knew that, right?

Saturday, May 13, 2017

Getting Past the Pain

Son #1 with Grandma Glo and Papa Denny
Mother’s Day seems an apropos time to look back on the day, nearly 28 years ago, that I first became a mother.

Like most of us, for me it was a day of elation, as well as tremendous challenge, tedious waiting, and terrifying episodes of pain. Which, upon consideration, basically sums up the entire lifetime experience of motherhood.

Son #1 was way late. (This set the scene for every single morning of the boy’s high school years.) The night before I finally was scheduled to be induced, I went out for a Mexican meal as a last-ditch effort to bring on labor.

I’d been offered loads of unsuccessful inducing advice—such as going for long walks, driving over bumpy train tracks, or having lots of sex. (I had gained forty pounds and was apparently harboring the Goodyear Blimp in my body. Sex? Really?) But an extra spicy burrito and guacamole apparently proved to be the miracle. Even today, guacamole and chips are the answer for almost anything.

Still, this baby was in no hurry. So even after I’d experienced contractions in very short intervals, was admitted to the hospital, and received an epidural (THANK GOD), my labor dragged on for the longest time known in the history of the universe. Or so it seemed.

When a monitor showed my contractions had lessened to some degree, yet my pain had gradually become even more horrific, I questioned whether the epidural was working.

The attending nurse assured me everything was functioning fine. Huh. I’d always had a fairly high pain threshold and found it hard to believe I was suddenly overreacting, but who was I to argue with a professional?

As I silently and sometimes not so silently swore, I told everyone who would listen that I had changed my mind about this birth. Couldn’t we just forget this whole thing?

And while I second-guessed my decision about having a baby or even about ever having sex, a new crisis arose. The fetal monitor indicated potential distress.

We tried a few simple fixes, including having me position myself on all fours on my bed. No easy task, considering the blimp that protruded from my belly.

Finally, my doctor came in again, looking weary and worried. “This baby is definitely in distress,” she said. “We need to do an emergency C-section.”

I was good with this decision. Not only was I ready to relieve myself of this pain, but I was now consumed with a greater concern about my baby’s life. Take him, now!

I was wheeled into the operating room. As they quickly prepped me for surgery, Daddy-to-be appeared even more stricken than I was. Probably because he wasn’t prepared to see several of my organs yanked out and laid upon the table, as we’d been informed was the modus operandi of this procedure.

“It will be fine,” he attempted to soothe me, as the doctor approached with a scalpel.
She reached down, and although I couldn’t see past the surgical drape over my abdomen, I knew she was ready to start cutting.

“Except for a slight tugging sensation, you won’t feel a thing,” the doctor reassured me. “You’re totally numb from the epidural.”

Except, I was not.

HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! The pain! I felt it all as soon as she began slicing me open. I screamed.

“Stop! I can feel everything!” I shouted.

Her eyes widened in terror and she immediately stopped. Perhaps just a moment too late.

I had feared for a couple hours that the epidural wasn’t working. I had never in my life wanted to be so wrong. But with one slice across my pelvis, I knew I was right.

My horrified doctor told my husband he’d have to leave. They needed to administer a general anesthetic to quickly knock me out and take the baby.

The last thing I remember was grasping his hand. And next, being semi-awake, still moaning in agony, in a recovery room.

Apparently, not only did the epidural not take, but my pain relief pump, which my husband kept squeezing—over and over to relieve my obvious pain—was also not working.

It was the very worst birthing experience I could ever imagine.

Except, I soon discovered my newborn son was alive. Very beautiful and totally healthy. And I was fully in love with this tiny new human.

As I gazed down, now successfully semi-drugged, at my firstborn child, all was forgiven. And eventually, almost forgotten.

Two years later, I inexplicably made the decision to have a second baby. Oh, that insane tug of maternal love.

So much pain and so much worry. That never ends, of course.

The only difference, years later, is we no longer depend on the presumed magic of an epidural to ease things. Thankfully, we have wine.

And a child that makes it all worthwhile.

Motherhood clearly isn't for the weak or the weak-hearted.

Happy Mother’s Day, to all of us who have endured—and enjoyed—the journey.

Friday, April 14, 2017

Remembering Easter Holidays Past

Easter morning on my grandparents' porch, circa 1965ish.
LONG before I ever envisioned any of the escapades from The 52/52 Project, which are detailed in my upcoming book "Finding My Badass Self," I played the Easter Bunny for two years at Toledo's Southwyck Mall. 
Although hundreds of photographs from that seventies gig are probably lying faded and forgotten in boxes of old family photos across Northwest Ohio, I do not possess a single one to share. 
Pure gold, buried deep in someone's basement.

What I do have is this much earlier photo of my two sisters and me, resplendent in our straw Easter bonnets and patent leather shoes. My cute, photogenic sisters are to the right. I'm the chubby goof on the left. Some things never, ever change.
What's your favorite Easter, Passover, or holiday story? Any fun or embarrassing photos to share? What in the world do you think I am holding here? (I'm almost afraid to know.)

Thursday, March 2, 2017

Days of Birth

Today would have been my dad's eightieth birthday. Here he is with my mom on one of the happiest days of his life: the birth of his first grandchild (my oldest son).

He died nine months later, a week after he turned fifty-three. After all he'd done for me in his relatively short life, I was happy I had been able to provide him with that final gift.

This afternoon, Ringo the Wonder Retriever and I walked to the cemetery. I blew my dad a kiss and told him we missed him.

As I walked back home in the snow, I could almost hear him beside me, whistling a tune.

Who do you miss?

Sunday, February 12, 2017

Available for Pre-Order Now!

Six months to its Aug. 15 release date, but "Finding My Badass Self: A Year of Truths and Dares" is now available for pre-order!

I am giddy.

A few early reviews:

“Sherry Stanfa-Stanley's book is a riot! At fifty-two, she spent the year re-creating herself and reimagining the possibilities of life, to the delight and enlightenment of those who cheered from the sidelines. Forget the bucket list: This book is a barrel of laughs. Honest, revealing, and warm-hearted, Stanfa-Stanley gives her readers a whole new way to put ‘life’ into midlife crisis.”
—Gina Barreca, syndicated columnist and author of Not That I’m Bitter and If You Lean In, Will Men Just Look Down Your Blouse?

“Kiss your comfort zone good-bye! Sherry Stanfa-Stanley challenges herself on the eve of her fifty-second birthday to shake up the status quo of a middle-age life. In fifty-two chapters, you can live vicariously or, better yet, get motivated to get out there. Stanfa-Stanley is funny, real, maybe a little crazy, and totally wonderful.”
—Betsy Lerner, author of The Bridge Ladies and The Forest for the Trees

“Sherry Stanfa-Stanley is funny, and smart, and brave. If you love funny, smart, brave writing, you will love this book. She does things I would never dream of doing, and tells the stories of her unusual adventures in a very entertaining, and always honest style. Enjoy!”
—Cathryn Michon, screenwriter of A Dog’s Purpose

“Stanfa-Stanley faces the terrifying reality of midlife inertia with courage and spontaneity, humor and humility, proving that life is either a bucket list full of someday or a reality full of right f*cking now. Her story is bold, touching, and relatable. You will laugh and cringe as she takes fifty-two first steps toward embracing no less than the life she always knew she was capable of living.”
—Nicole Knepper, MA, LCPC, clinical therapist/gerontologist and author of Moms Who Drink and Swear

“Most people crave a settled life of comfort and safety. Not Sherry Stanfa-Stanley. Finding My Badass Self is a compulsively readable, hilarious account of Stanfa-Stanley’s adventures in middle age, her story of becoming a woman of bravery, style, and substance.”
—Jessica Lahey, author of The Gift of Failure: How the Best Parents Learn to Let Go So Their Children Can Succeed

And, my favorite:
“I suppose I should have spent a night in the convent with you and the Sisters, instead of going to the nude beach with you.”
 —Gloria Stanfa, my mother

You can pre-order here:

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Friday, February 3, 2017

City of Stars

Life Lesson #2,017: It pays to be a tad crazy.

Without that reputation, I surely wouldn’t have been the first person an old high school friend, Jim Ronda, would think of asking to accompany him and his wife, Debbie, to the red carpet for the Screen Actors Guild awards.

I reconnected with Jim a few years back through Facebook and The 52/52 Project. Two weeks ago, as the winning auction bidder on four tickets to the SAG red carpet, he concluded he needed to invite someone spontaneous and “crazy enough to say screw it”: someone who would drop everything and fly out from Toledo to Los Angeles on the drop of a dime.

And so, obviously, I figured I must.

My son, Kyle—who had moved just the prior week from Milwaukee to Cincinnati—requested a couple days off his brand new job and left behind his still unpacked boxes to join us. In my family, the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Our whirlwind long weekend in LA is worthy of a multi-page story, but the SAG red carpet—the impetus for our trip—was one incredible experience in itself.

Jim told us that front-row bleacher seats went for around $1,500 a pair. The rest of the auctioned seats, like ours, were first-come, first-served. Somehow, we managed to land in the front row anyway. Thank you, Jim. And thank YOU, fate and fortune.

From a fabulous vantage point, we experienced two sensory-overloaded hours of celebrity excitement.
Who did we see? Given my fairly limited viewing of popular TV shows, I didn’t recognize some folks until they were pointed out. And with the mob that gradually formed in the venue, we had a tough time picking out everyone in the crowd. Where do you focus your eyes, when anyone in front of you could be someone amazing?

But SOME people you couldn’t miss even if you tried. Those TV and movie stars who caused the biggest frenzy among the media and the audience: Viola Davis, Kerry Washington, Meryl Streep, Jeff Bridges, John Lithgow, Denzel, Lily Tomlin, Ryan Gosling, Emma Stone, Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban. A few of them, including Meryl and Ryan, made a point of smiling and waving at our group. We reacted as could be expected. We swooned.

Stars we didn’t see being announced on the red carpet, but whom we just happened to spot in the crowd included: Bryan Cranston, Kate Hudson, Jerry O’Connell, Jim Parsons, John Legend, Natalie Portman, and Kyle Chandler (who, even in person, still looks uncannily like my late father).

We were excited to see the synergy among entire casts of a few shows, such as “Game of Thrones,” “Modern Family” (including little Joe, who wore a cape and gazed around in bewilderment), and “Stranger Things.” (The kids in the cast were way too adorable and appeared so thrilled to be there together. I had never seen the show, but remedied that as soon as I returned home.)

Many of the actors made their way over to the red carpet audience to shake hands, sign autographs, and take selfies. Among the friendliest of those I recognized were Modern Family’s Jesse Tyler Ferguson and Eric Stonestreet (who engaged us in conversation and asked where we were from), William Macy, Casey Affleck, Millie Bobby Brown (Eleven from “Stranger Things”), Amy Adams, Sterling K. Brown (Randall from one of my new favorite shows, “This Is Us”), Hugh Grant, Jim Krasinski and Emily Blunt.

I have met my share of famous people and have never been much of a celebrity whore. But I found myself a bit in awe while directly face-to-face with so many of my favorites, including Hugh Grant and John Krasinski (my beloved Jim Halpert from “The Office”). They both used my iPhone to take our photos and were warm, with a sweet, self-deprecating sense of humor.

Perhaps my biggest fan girl moment was spying Matt Smith, the eleventh doctor from “Doctor Who” (and now appearing in “The Crown”), across the room. He was wearing a bowtie, of course, because bowties are cool. Spotting him was such a huge surprise that he was the only person whose sighting prompted me to shout his name. Later, while I was busy waving to Meryl Streep and Jeff Bridges—as one does—I totally missed seeing him walk down our row, right in front of me. Probably just as well. I might have embarrassed myself.

For me, a random middle-aged woman from Toledo, sitting along the red carpet at a Hollywood awards show was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I can only imagine how these celebrated actors and actresses felt that night. Because the City of Stars was shining—just for them.

We never know when a relationship through a generous acquaintance, along with serendipity, might combine into a surreal and electrifying experience. Sometimes, that ends in a dream come true.

So, here’s to the fools who dream.

Have you ever been star-struck?