Emotionally? I’ve embraced it.
Spiritually? I am both enlightened and anchored in something greater than myself.
Physically? Let’s just say my body celebrated early with the thoughtful gifts of sciatica, hip joint drama, and lower back betrayal. Curious gifts, all of which I’d happily return.
And the laugh lines? Apparently, I’ve lived in a near-permanent state of hilarity. Honestly, if each one told a joke, I’d have a full comedy special by now.
I remember throwing a 50th birthday party for both my parents, and now, here I am. Sixty. Navigating what feels like the senior citizen starter pack, trying to balance the wisdom I’ve earned with the ibuprofen I now carry like a purse essential.
But turning 60 also comes with a well-worn path of experiences, each one shaping the very core of who I am.
They’ve come in the form of milestones and moments—some extraordinarily joyful, others painfully life-altering.
I’ve known life’s most profound beauty and a love I never imagined possible in the birth and gift of my son. I’ve also felt the deep ache of grief in losing those I’ve loved. I’ve experienced the hope and joy of marriage, and the quiet sorrow of divorce. I’ve known love that consumed me completely—and love that was never returned, leaving behind only echoes and lessons.
I’ve been wrapped in the warmth of family and friendship, and I’ve sat with the cold quiet of loneliness. I’ve battled serious illness and found the calm and clarity that come with restored health and peace of mind.
There have been moments of tremendous success and moments of difficult setbacks. Seasons when life bloomed in full color, and times when it faded to grayscale. Days when everything made sense, and others when nothing did.
Each experience, welcome or not, has been part of the journey. Each one stitched into the fabric of my life—threads of joy, sorrow, love, and loss—woven into the tapestry of who I’ve become.
In the past few years, I’ve lost friends who never got the chance to see 50. That truth is never far from my heart. I know, deeply, what a gift it is to stand here at 60. And because of that, I strive to live each day with gratitude—for the time I’ve been given, the memories I’ve made, and the sacred privilege of being alive.
As I raise my glass to the 60 years behind me and all they’ve taught me and brought me, I look ahead to the years still to come. I know there are more life moments waiting—some that will bring immense bliss, and others that may painfully grip my soul. But each one is part of the experience I’ve been granted simply by having the chance to play this beautiful, unpredictable game we call life.
Because if I’ve learned anything in 60 years—and as a writer—it’s that the best stories are the ones still being written.
