Reading · Midlife Musings

I turned 53 last week, and unlike birthdays in years past, I didn’t feel the urge to make sweeping declarations about the year ahead.

Instead, I found myself paying attention to what lingered. Perhaps birthdays have a way of doing that, inviting us to notice what we've been holding all along.

The day unfolded through a series of thoughtful details. I walked into a red carpet lined with candles, leading to a soft pink blanket set with heart-shaped plates, strawberry Rice Krispie treats topped with pink birthday candles, a bottle of Sancerre, and one surprise after another.

The surprise that made me smile most was a handmade wooden swing wrapped in flowers, hanging right in the middle of the living room. He had built it simply because he knows I can't resist stopping at a playground for "just one swing."

Ever since I was little, swings have made me unreasonably happy. Even now, if I pass an empty playground on a walk, there’s a good chance I’ll hop on for a minute. There’s something about that feeling of lifting off the ground, if only for a few moments, that never gets old. Seeing one waiting for me indoors felt completely unexpected and somehow perfectly fitting.

It's funny what stays with you. I'll remember the burst of laughter the moment I saw the swing. I'll remember that someone decided a living room could become a playground for an afternoon.

As the day settled into evening, I thought about how much my definition of a beautiful life has changed. Years ago, I might have measured it by milestones and achievements. These days, I’m paying closer attention to the quality of my ordinary days and the people, places, and rituals that shape them.

I'd been collecting similar lessons all month in Paris. Mornings began with walks through Bastille before client sessions, afternoons were spent in the ballet studio where I was reminded that being a beginner never really ends, and whenever I could, I'd linger in cafés over tea and my journal. There were also days spent under the weather, a record-breaking heatwave, and the realization that even our most cherished dreams unfold alongside everyday life.

Most of our lives are lived somewhere between beginnings and endings. We spend our days learning, grieving, celebrating, changing our minds, letting go of old dreams, discovering new ones, and slowly becoming acquainted with versions of ourselves we couldn't have imagined a decade earlier. Waiting until everything feels settled means waiting through the very life we’re hoping to experience.

Life isn’t asking us to arrive. It’s asking us to participate.

At 53, I'm finding myself measuring life differently. Less by what I've accomplished and more by the quality of my days.

I want to notice the ordinary Tuesday as much as the birthday. I want to savor the conversation that lingers after the tea has gone cold, the ballet class that humbles me, fresh flowers from the market, a walk without reaching for my phone, and the journal page that reveals something I hadn't realized until I slowed down enough to write it.

Maybe that’s why I love a mid-year pause.

January has a way of encouraging bold intentions. July feels softer. It invites us to stop long enough to notice where we’ve been before deciding where we’d like to go next.

That’s the spirit behind A Tranquil Mid-Year, our free gathering this Sunday evening. We’ll spend an hour reflecting, journaling, and looking toward the second half of the year with curiosity instead of pressure.

When I blew out those pink candles, I didn't suddenly understand what the next year would hold. I simply found myself wanting more of this. More candlelight. More lingering. More noticing. More ordinary days filled with small acts of beauty and imagination. More walks. More tea. More picnic blankets. More swings.

Those moments are the life we've been waiting for.

If a mid-year pause feels like what you need right now, I’d love to have you join us on Sunday. Bring your journal, your favorite libation, and whatever this season has been trying to teach you. We’ll spend an hour slowing down together, noticing what matters, and maybe giving ourselves permission for one more swing as we welcome the second half of the year.

PS For those who like to linger, I’m sharing the fuller arc of this chapter in the private collection. You can join us here.

What Stays With You

Comments