I turned 44 today.
Birthdays haven’t felt the same since the pandemic. Missing my 40th shifted something; less celebration, more reflection, fewer markers that say this mattered. The years kept moving, but the rituals thinned out.
I still feel grateful when people reach out. That hasn’t been lost on me. But alongside that gratitude is a quieter truth: I’m not satisfied with where I am in my life right now. Not bitter. Not hopeless. Just honest.
This is a midlife birthday, whether I like the framing or not. And midlife, I’m learning, isn’t about panic but instead about inventory.
Through my Five Windows essays, I’ve spent the last few months examining my life from multiple angles: who I was as a girl, the choices I made, the systems I navigated, the mistakes I own, and the lessons that followed. That work has given me language, insight, and self-compassion.
What it hasn’t yet given me is the external shift I’ve been working toward.
And that’s the tension I’m sitting with today.
At what point does growth convert into ease? When does learning turn into stability? When do the hard-earned lessons begin to compound into financial, geographic, and creative freedom?
I don’t think it’s selfish to want money, travel, rest, or abundance. I think it’s honest. Especially after years of resilience being framed as a virtue rather than a necessity.
At the same time, it feels almost dissonant to claim happiness—or even desire—while the world feels unsteady. Holding personal longing alongside collective grief is uncomfortable. But pretending one cancels out the other doesn’t feel true either.
So, this birthday isn’t about celebration in the traditional sense. It’s about permission.
Permission to want more without shame.
Permission to acknowledge disappointment without surrendering hope.
Permission to believe that redemption doesn’t have an expiration date.
I don’t have answers today. I have clarity. And at 44, that feels like a legitimate place to stand.
