Today is my birthday.
And no…this is not an April Fool’s joke.
I’ve always loved being born on a day that makes people pause, squint, and then smile.
There’s something about it that feels like a built-in wink from the universe.
A little humor wrapped around a sacred day.
And if you know me…you know I’ll take both.
Because birthdays, for me, aren’t just about getting older.
They’re about getting the chance.
I’m turning 54 today.
And I don’t say that with hesitation—I say it with reverence.
Because I have loved people who didn’t get to.
My son never got to see 5.
And this year…he won’t see 21.
My husband didn’t get to turn 40…or 50.
No big parties. No “over the hill” jokes. No candles piled high.
My brother didn’t get to see 35…or 40.
He didn’t get to build a life, raise children, or grow into the man he was becoming.
So when my birthday comes around, it doesn’t just belong to me.
It holds them, too.
Every candle I blow out carries names.
Every year I step into is one they didn’t get to reach.
Which is why—if I can be a little bold here—I struggle when I hear people complain about aging.
Growing older is not something we’re owed.
It’s something we’re given.
A quiet, sacred gift.
Now listen…
I understand that aging can feel heavy sometimes.
Midlife has a way of holding up a mirror we didn’t exactly ask for.
Bodies change.
Energy shifts.
The face in the mirror tells a story we’re still learning how to read.
There is grief in that, too.
But what if…
What if we chose to see it differently?
What if aging isn’t something we fight…
but something we step into?
What if the lines on our faces are proof that we stayed?
That we endured?
That we loved deeply enough for it to leave a mark?
Because we do have choices.
We choose what we put into our bodies.
We choose how we move, how we rest, how we show up.
We choose what we carry—and what we finally set down.
We choose our mindset.
And after everything I’ve walked through…
I’ve had to choose—again and again—how I would live forward.
How do I carry my grief and still make room for joy?
How do I honor the people I’ve lost while continuing to grow older without them?
How do I take care of this body, this soul, this life…that has been both broken and rebuilt?
Those aren’t one-time questions.
They’re daily ones.
And today, on my birthday, my answer is this:
I will live.
Fully. Intentionally. Gratefully.
I will age with purpose.
I will love the people still here with everything I have.
I will take care of myself—not out of fear, but out of honor.
Because I want to be here.
I want to watch my daughter get married.
I want to hold her babies.
I want to sit at a table someday, maybe at 80 years young,
and look around at a life that kept going.
Not perfectly.
But faithfully.
So today, I celebrate.
Not just another year…
but another chance.
And I carry them with me as I do.
🤍
Tell me…
How do you honor your birthday each year?