Reflections on Turning 59...

Birthdays are odd. 

Let me qualify. Birthdays in midlife are especially perplexing. 

For most of us, they are a reminder that we are getting closer to the end (yikes), and yet we are also celebrating another year of life (hooray). It’s the classic midlife conundrum. 

I’m not a fan of the word crisis. It leans too far into fear – as if time is running out. I prefer to see this chapter as a renewal, a chance to embrace the things we’ve long put off or never thought were possible. Still, midlife birthdays can be confusting They stir up emotions and questions that don't always make sense.

Recently, I celebrated my 59th birthday. That number sits squarely in midlife – or, depending on who you ask, even "old." But what does 59 really mean?

It seems to me, the conundrum stems from a preconceived notion we have of a particular age vs what that age actually feels like. 

I remember when my dad was in his late fifties. He seemed physically slower and more portly than his younger years, but was hitting his prime in his career. Life was pretty good. He had fallen in love and had gotten married, for the third time. In stride with life, career, health, love, family, money, he enjoyed life with robustness and fortitude. He could do things, buy things, go places and be with his closest people whenever he wanted. From my view, he had reached the pinnacle of success. Life was good. 

I remember my grandmother when she was 59. By this age, she was already a grandmother to four little girls: me, my sister and our two younger cousins. She was still very active in her garden, sculpture studio, dance and yoga classes, traveling, swimming, and entertaining. But in my mind, she was my grandmother so she was old!

And I'm also deeply aware that not everyone gets to reach this age. Sadly, I have friends who didn't make it to their 58th birthday. That perspective certainly softens the sting of aging and deepens my gratitude for being here, alive, able to reflect at all.

Still, that's what makes midlfe birthdays so puzzling: they hold both gratitude and gried, celebration and contemplation. They remind us how lucky we are to be here... and how strange it is to be here now.

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We all know age is relative. If you are reading this at 85, fifty-nine probably sounds young and vibrant and like anything is possible. This is why I find it a comforting exercise to consult my wise 90 year-old self whenever I’m feeling stuck in a rut, over emotional, wishing for more than what’s right in front of me or like my age is a barrier. Curious about this? Call me — I’ll guide you through it. Trust me, your 90 year old self has the best perspective! 

So, whatever fifty nine is supposed to mean — I’m not sure I feel it. 

I know my cells are middle aged, and maybe only have another 30 years to go, 40 if I’m lucky. But inside? I still feel like the curious little girl I was at 6. The outspoken, sometimes mischievous teenager I was at 15. The insecure young woman I was at 27. 

I think I expected 59 to come with more certainty — a feeling of being firmly rooted, accomplished, unshakably wise. I thought I'd fee more "together," maybe more serene, or at lease more secure in who I am. As if some magical threshold would be crossed and I'd arrive at a place that felt settled, finished, or finally figure out.

I think what I’m realizing these past few years is this: 

• It doesn’t matter what I thought I’d be or feel like by this age. Whatever identifiers of age or wisdom, stability or success I once looked to outside myself — they’re irrelevant now.

• I’ve learned my emotions — sadness, joy, envy, ecstasy, frustration — or status don’t define me.

• There is no prescription for what 59 or 39 or 89 should look, be or feel like.

• If any thresholds exist, we reach them and then move forward to the next. I am constantly learning, growing, and evolving...

But birthdays still feel like they should be special. And in many ways, they are. After all, I’m healthy. I’ve built a beautiful, strong family. I’ve spent years learning, growing, stumbling, and healing. I’ve taken relatively good care of myself. And I’m deeply grateful — for the blessings and the challenges. Both have shaped me.

On one hand, I feel enormous gratitude to be here with all of you for another trip around the sun.

On the other hand, my birthday also feels like just… another day. Which, of course, it is. And maybe that’s the point. Another day to show up — to be useful, to be present, to give and take, love and let go, move and rest, nourish and release. To simply be.

Just another day. And yet — what a gift that is.

On my 59th birthday, I got to spend it in my hometown of NYC with my daughter and mother. Heart is full.