Have you ever realized that a story you’ve been telling about yourself… stopped being true?
For most of my life, if you asked me, What’s your favorite time of year? I would have said Fall. It was an answer I adopted long ago, and I never paused to ask myself why. Why Fall? For years, Fall felt like closure. A chance to wipe my hands of another year, finished, done, survived. I’d look at my list of what I hoped to accomplish, celebrate the wins, and ache over the failures. If I’m honest, Fall carried a heaviness: sadness, unmet goals, and the exhaustion that comes from pushing through another twelve months. By year’s end, I wasn’t just tired, I was worn out, bracing myself for the pressure of a new beginning. Several years ago, something shifted. I can’t point to a single moment, though the years leading up to it were full of what I’ll call adventures. Not the glamorous kind. Some of them made people angry. Some looked reckless from the outside; emotionally, financially, even professionally. And layered on top of everything, I was pursuing a master’s degree in an “emerging” discipline that sat far outside most people’s comfort zones. To some, it looked like I had gone completely off the rails. But for me, the longings finally outweighed the discomfort of being misunderstood, and the fear of making “yet another” mistake. So when I turned 59 and realized I was stepping into my 60th year, something in me said: mark this differently. Celebrate the becoming, not just the surviving. So I threw myself a launch party. I invited a small circle of family, friends, and colleagues; people who had shaped my life in both beautiful and complicated ways. We gathered at a local restaurant, and before dinner, I introduced each person to the group. In the background, Fight Song played softly, and something in me sparked. That January night rekindled a light that I believe first flickered the day I was born, January 31, 1960. Ever since, I’ve found myself looking forward to the new year; curious, hopeful, energized by what might unfold. Yes, I still arrive at year’s end tired. But now, I can say I’m satisfied.