naked and 50

My Non-Instagrammable Birthday

Turndown service at the Hotel Chelsea

I am chronically overscheduled. Anyone else? Show of hands? Case in point, my birthday is usually a multi-day celebratory gauntlet. From morning ‘til night, I have stacked social plans. By the end I am breathless, and haven’t provided enough unprogrammed space to actually feel into any feelings. 

I promised myself that this year would be different. It was a big ‘un. Arriving at a half-century, I wanted to know what it felt like to not rely on relentless external stimuli as a way of directing my mood. I had one plan, to see a rock show that night with my family. Whatever else I wanted to do would be dictated by what appealed in the moment. 

My friends were nervous. I am a bit moody about birthdays under the best of circumstances. When people asked what my plans were for the big 5-0 they expected something grand. Instead, I had a pretty simple situation, one that suited me fine. 

In fact, I went so far as to cancel a week-long birthday surf trip through the Basque country of Spain and France because it felt forced on multiple levels. This would not be an Instagram birthday. I’ve been traveling almost non-stop for 6 months. It was time to slow my roll. 

So I flew back early from Europe and checked into the Hotel Chelsea for 3 nights. I’d be in my hometown for this milestone. 

After a low key evening on a Manhattan rooftop with dear friends, I woke up the morning of my 50th birthday by myself. No pup. No partner. No louche lover to distract. Just threadcount, a couple of banned books and me. It was glorious. 

I stretched out and smiled. From bed, I opened the shades covering the french doors out to the tiny balcony (I love a remote controlled, open-sesame shade reveal moment), letting light in. I smiled. I cracked a journal and wrote for a bit. It started to rain. I smiled.  

23rd Street view, NYC

I was happy not because of external input, but because I have arrived at a place where I enjoy my own company. I’m not gobbling up the banquet of abundance, afraid of scarcity (or worse) around the corner. I am more discerning because I have learned things through 49 years of experience. 

I was in excellent company (my own). I was proud of myself for not being with the wrong person. I am not in an unfulfilling romantic relationship out of misplaced loyalty or fear. On my 50th birthday I hadn’t subverted possible loneliness with the presence of another. My reward was the opposite of being lonely. It was a calm, radiant joy. 

I was nude, so to speak. Naked after casting off a whole bunch of external programming that told me what I needed in order to be fulfilled. A nuclear family, motherhood, international acclaim, home ownership, a Pulitzer by 50. Nope, I sent all that noise out to the dry cleaner. 

I am here. I made it. I am alive. I like myself and my life. That is the celebration. 

Yes, there was an epic breakfast followed by a “birthday suit” infrared sauna session, a rapturous facial and a trip to The Whitney Museum that quietly blew my mind (go see the Jaune Quick-to-See Smith exhibit if you can). There was a beautiful avalanche of calls, DM’s, Facetime’s and messages from people who care about me. But it was savoring the first, solo moments of my day that I will remember most dearly. 

infrared sauna session in my birthday suit 

Nobody told me that it could be this good, this way. So I’m sharing it here in case you or someone you know would benefit from my perspective. 

A good deal more was revealed on my 50th, triggered by a shocking piece of news. Part II of birthday learnings to come…