Yesterday it happened. I turned 52 – a number which we now know I don’t look anywhere near (exhibit A and exhibit B).
Did I get celebrated? Hell yes. I love birthdays, and I think part of the reason is simply that I have so much to celebrate. (I’m sure people who dislike birthdays have things to celebrate too, but for some reason, they just don’t think it’s worth the fuss.)
The celebrations actually kicked off the day before with my mother and sister. Lunch at a convenient spot right between us – a couple of hours with the only two people who have known me my entire life. The core community that formed me. Leaving them made me so full of gratitude. Perfect? Not even close. Flawless? Hard pass. And we’re certainly not ‘cool’ by modern standards of what counts as successful or right. But we are family, I have them, and I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
Yesterday, though, was all about the ones I’d walk through fire to save. The pure luck of having both my boys at home – the younger one accompanied by his chosen sidekick (a thoroughly wonderful human who turns out to be an absolute match).
The Mr didn’t do as badly as a few years back (can be viewed in the Exhibii B post above, and in several more I noticed…) , but morning operations weren’t entirely flaw-free either. I’ll leave it at what shall henceforth be known as “The Charging Incident.” Luckily, good cheese, leftover dinner (far better than it sounds), cake, and brilliant company more than made up for the morning’s minor missteps.
A knock on the door and friends showing up with a gift might just be the ultimate way to be celebrated. It’s such a clear reminder of what actually matters: being remembered. It was never about the gift itself, but about someone taking the time to pick something out – and the time to actually stop by.
I spent part of the day on-site with one of my clients, where I was greeted with hugs and cheers upon arriving in my usual, naturally royal manner. The image is from the office (yes, I know the glamour is overwhelming ) – but please note the tiara.
Add to that a phone overflowing with texts and calls – including from people I only hear from on this exact day, yet who remember me without a social media algorithm prompting them.
Turns out, I’m important.
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