Joyful Intention
I turned forty-four on December 11, 2024, in Orquevaux, France. Even now, twenty-four hours later, I find myself repeating those words, letting them echo through me. There’s a kind of magic in the statement—a reverence for the truth of it, a disbelief at the beauty of it, and an abiding gratitude for the gift of this moment in time. It has left me a little breathless at the dawn of a new birth year.
I used to have what I thought was age anxiety. Birthdays made me restless and dissatisfied. I hated the creeping inevitability of them, the way they marked the passage of time I felt I wasn’t fully living. But this year, something shifted. While I can’t say I’ve entirely conquered my complicated feelings about aging, I can say this: I showed up for myself on my birthday in a way I haven’t in years. Not perfectly, but wholeheartedly.
Sixteen months ago, when offered dates for this residency, I chose to turn 44 here in Orquevaux. I didn’t know what the rest of my life would look like, who might need me, or how I would make it a reality. I simply said “yes” to the gift being offered. Gratitude, I’ve learned, is a powerful starting point for any story—and for any new year.
A Day Rooted in Grace
My birthday itself wasn’t marked by grand celebrations, extravagance, or extraordinary events. Instead, it was stitched together by the quiet, intentional rhythms I’ve cultivated here: creative work, fresh air, coffee, and conversation with new friends. I leaned into my day with grace—giving myself permission to let go of the exhausting mental refrain of “shoulds” that usually dominate so much of my life.
At the end of the day, there were songs, cake, and a tangible sense of being seen and valued. I was reminded that showing up wholeheartedly—for myself and for others—is a gift. A simple truth, perhaps, but one that feels new every time I experience it.
Letting Go by Moonlight
The most transformative moment of this birthday, however, occurred just before it officially began. On the evening of December 10, as the hours slipped toward midnight, I tore a page from my notebook and began a free-write. In a classic brain-dump style, I let every word, phrase, heartache, and struggle that had surfaced over the past several years (and sat floating at the top of my heart over the past week-and-a-half as time and space finally made room for me to “sit with it”) spill onto the page. These were things I was tired of carrying, things I was ready to release.
List in hand, I bundled up, pulled on my boots, and tromped down the hill in the dark toward the stone bridge that spans the small river running through the village. Beneath a cloud-muted moon, I stood on the bridge and tore the list into tiny pieces, letting the river carry them away. (For the environmentally conscious among us: it was compostable art paper and is likely already soil at the river's bottom.)
As I gazed into the dark water, the bells from the church belfry rang out twelve times. Midnight. My birthday. I laughed aloud, throwing my head back to let the moment wash over me. I wished myself a happy new year and walked back up the hill feeling lighter, freer, and utterly alive.
Joyful Intention
I’ve always loved the idea of choosing a word, theme, or phrase on one’s birthday rather than on January 1. For this year, my phrase is Joyful Intention—the idea that I will happen to things rather than the other way around. That I will choose joy, as much as I am able, in that process.
This isn’t about chasing happiness or denying the complexity of life. Far from it. It’s about shifting from survival habits into something more intentional. This time away has reminded me of the dreams I used to hold for myself, my people, and my community. It’s helped me remember the quiet, powerful ways we can make the world beautiful—not by grand gestures, but by showing up, creating, and connecting.
As I step into this new year of life, I look forward to coming home with a fresh sense of purpose. To digging back into my creative head-and-heart space. To celebrating the messy, magnificent art of living with joyful intention.
Here’s to 44. Here’s to what’s ahead. Here’s to showing up for myself and for the people I love with gratitude, grace, and joy.
