It’s My Birthday: Another Trip Around the Sun (And I'm Getting Dizzy)

Look, I'm grateful for another birthday. Really, I am. But let's be honest—I'm also experiencing what I like to call "existential birthday math anxiety." You know, that fun moment when you realize there are more candles behind you on life's cake than there are ahead of you, and you start wondering: "What am I actually doing with all this frosting?"

I don't know how you celebrate your birthday—maybe with champagne and confetti, maybe by hiding under the covers pretending the calendar is lying—but I take the time (usually while avoiding the actual party planning) to reflect on the past year and figure out what I want to accomplish next.

And here's what's hitting me as I get older: retirement is no longer some adorable fairy tale happening to "future me." It's getting uncomfortably close, like a deadline I forgot to put in my calendar. But plot twist—I don't think I'm actually going to retire. At least not in the traditional "goodbye cruel workforce, hello permanent vacation" sense. Instead, I'm thinking about shifting my focus to being of service. Because apparently, I can't just sit still like a normal person.

Here's what I've learned about myself through years of trial, error, and at least three existential crises: I need purpose. I'm not one of those people who can wake up and just... vibe. Nope. I need a reason to get out of bed—a purpose for the day, the week, the month, the year. Purpose keeps me grounded. Purpose keeps me going. Purpose keeps me from spiraling into "what's the point of anything" territory while staring at my coffee maker at 6 AM (let’s be real, it’s Coke Zero - don’t judge).

And honestly? Purpose keeps me feeling young. It keeps that spark of "infinite possibilities" alive, even when my hips are making sounds that suggest otherwise.

My mom worked until she was 84 years old. She's 94 now. She worked because it gave her purpose, and I think that was absolutely brilliant of her. She didn't need a gold watch and a rocking chair—she needed a reason to show up. But here's what I also witnessed: I watched her light dim when she was no longer working. The loss of that community, that daily sense of contribution and connection—it impacted her in ways I hadn't anticipated. That taught me something profound about what we lose when we step away from purposeful work without something equally meaningful to step into.

So now I'm looking at this new chapter and asking myself: How can I make an impact on my community, my family, and—let's be real—myself? How can I be intentional about what my next act will be? Because if I'm going to keep collecting birthdays (and let's hope I do), I want them to mean something.

After all, life's too short to just coast. Even if my math says I'm technically past halftime.

Here's to getting older, staying purposeful, and figuring out what the hell Act Two is supposed to look like. Cheers to that.

How about you?