I turned another year older yesterday.

If we weren’t in a pandemic right now, I’d have thrown myself a vintage-style birthday party and encouraged you all to dress in 1940’s style.

As it was, we are in a pandemic and my birthday fell on a Monday and much of the country, including where I live, was under threat of a huge snow and ice storm.

I thought about encouraging you to dress vintage and do the party virtually…but it just didn’t feel right under the circumstances.

So, I turned 51.

No matter how I feel about the number or the speed at which time is passing, I do think of my birthday as my personal new year and a sacred time. I love my Valentine’s Day birthday combo and I strongly encourage everyone to celebrate their birthday with big love.

On my birthday morning, however, I felt sad.

I turned 50.

I woke up and it was February 15 and I was another year older and into a new decade of living.

It was weird.

I’ve always loved my birthday, always enjoyed making a big deal out of it.