Ode to 51 Birthday Candles

 May 6, 2026

Happy, Happy 51st Birthday to Me!

As I write, I am mindful of the fact that I've likely lived more of my life than I have left of it which gives me pause.  Many years ago, when my first child was born, I remember watching Steve Jobs' commencement address to Stanford's Class of 2005.  In it, he said that death is the single best invention of life and that time is limited.  He also shared that while no one really wants to die, everyone-particularly recent college grads-should take time to listen to their intuition instead of their parents or the worlds' expectations, as it knows exactly why they were called to be here.

I remember taking this to heart when I started making unconventional choices like leaving my career post graduate school to stay at home and raise our children.  And again, when I decided to go back to the marketplace and start a mediation private practice. And again, when we decided to use our money for education and experiences which didn't add up on paper.

And so, particularly as my children grow and our oldest will graduate from college next year, it's a strange and marvelous place to be--wondering why I am meant to be here and what I have left to do.

One of the most freeing parts of aging-aside from the truly giving minimal fucks part-is the recognition that all of the minute things that seemed to carry so much weight really have no more bearing.  Getting worked up about a child's grade, a social event, a conversation with a family member, a car repair, decor for a party, etc. just doesn't matter.  And the reason it doesn't matter is because after so much lived experience, you finally understand what does--people, relationships, memories, promises, unconditional love, hope, commitment, connection.  And after seeing people that I love die and watching the aftermath of the lives of those left, I realize that all of this is short--and when we miraculously wake up each morning--it should be in gratitude.

When the astronauts from the Artemis II mission came back to Earth, they shared that everything out there in the universe is so black except for the oasis of the planet that we live on--and that the one binding truth is that we are all living, breathing human beings who elementally are the same. And because when we're born, no one tells us how many days we get to be here--we mistakenly think that it's forever-but it's not.

Steve Jobs died at the age of 56. People who I love have died younger. And so recognizing that time is of the essence, the big questions I'm wrestling with are what to do with my hands, feet, heart and mind now that I'm no longer mothering in the way I used to.  How to serve and love others in the ways that I have been so kindly the recipient of?  What to leave behind and how to use my time and gifts well?

I hope that in this 51st year, I can continue to shed the worry and doubt that often keep me from plunging into the things and relationships that matter most.  I pray that I will trust in my purpose for being here and that I won't squander the gift of life.  I yearn to use my written words to foster hope and connection.  I want to keep serving as a bridge for people in conflict helping them to see a different way.  I am excited to celebrate milestones with my children and to continue conversations about life's big questions. And, while I climb a mountain every day, I am infinitely grateful to share base camp with my husband--my partner--my love--as I work to leave something meaningful behind.

Here's to the beginning of a new year and a deep dive into the 50's--I hear it's a really beautiful place to be.

All my love,

Me

A Million Little Things

In the wake of a bitterly cold weekend with multiple family and friend gatherings, I found myself laid out on the couch with a cup of tea, nursing what I presume is the beginning of a chest cold, watching the Democratic debates.

My head spinning mindful of all there is to be concerned about both in our country and our global home, it became overwhelming. 

Just hourly wages, climate change, affordable college education, accessible healthcare, immigration reform, personal privacy measures, security and protection abroad, wealth domination...it becomes mind boggling and exhausting trying to prioritize the issues that matter most, while implementing solutions that are realistic and sustainable.

Holding my English Breakfast tea, wrapped in an afghan with fuzzy socks, I thought about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.   It seems to me that he knew what mattered deeply to him and what he wanted to leave behind...a world better than when he arrived.

As a wife and a mother circling my home doing the same routine tasks of laundry folding, grocery shopping, meal planning, homework supervising, activity chauffeuring and a million little things...it's hard to know how I'm leaving a meaningful foot print.  I'm certainly not affecting public policy, writing legislation, organizing grassroots movements, conducting protests, inventing innovative technology, reducing environmental pollution...no, often, I'm yelling at my kids feeling like I'm spinning my wheels.

Until I start thinking about the small sorrows, fears, places of uncertainty that I find myself with my friends and then it becomes clear.

My gift is to listen and to offer a safe space reminding those I love that together, imperfect as we may be, we can do it.  Which is why the words of Martin Luther King, Jr. made me feel grateful and useful in a time where apathy and exhaustion seem to abound.

And so it strikes me, that we all have something to give...we all have a way to be "used" for good in the world.  And most likely, deep in your heart, when your ego is not front and center, you know what that gift is.  It may feel like a burden to share...but in the end, you know that you're both good at it and that it fills a need, a void, and provides a place of shelter and hope for another in this crazy world.

Our task is to do a million little things in a great way...a way that says...we are here together and we all have a responsibility to leave this place better than when we arrived.

The Gift of Legacy

Today is definitely a new day.

After a rough go the past few days, I've been so grateful for the support of many friends who understand the trials and tribulations of raising a young family...and who step up with really helpful and thoughtful tips to lighten the load.

Usually around this time of year, I make a conscious effort to walk as much as I possibly can to take in all of the final moments of autumn.  The reds, yellows, oranges, greens of the trees...the crunching of the leaves...the smell in the air and the presence of God's beauty literally puts me in awe.

So, this morning, I bundled the girls up and we made our usual trek to the park, around the golf course, up some hills, over a bridge and back to our home.  While Claire was gnawing a graham cracker, Kate and I gathered leaves for yet another collage and talked about how trees are made.  We tried to imagine when they started as seedlings and how old they are today.  We also talked about how many years that trees live and what they need to grow. 

I wondered if years from this moment if Kate might come back and walk amidst some of the same old trees with her little ones.  It calls to mind for me, the power of legacy and the beauty of leaving one's footprint on this earth.  We're all leaving a mark, something behind, a place holder, a difference.

There's never been a time more special for me than now, in my thirties, realizing that we have inherited a place that will someday trade hands with another.  Someone else will look among the trees, enjoy the beauty of the stream under the bridge, sweat up the steep hills and be grateful for what they have been given.

I wonder about my footprint and my passing of the baton.  How am I doing my part and sharing in the gift of legacy to those I love the most?