On turning 36

Today, I turn 36. In the company of the park, I reflected…

I sat for a while beneath the tree, slowing to the pace of the soil. A fly wandered mindlessly across my hand—both of us remembering, for a moment, that there was no difference between us. Each the centre of our own world; each part of a consciousness perfect in its randomness—like clouds in the sky, or ink in water.

Birthdays feel like a stitching in time. A glance back and you know instinctively where, and how, and why you were. I feel proud – and thankful – to those younger, more raw and tender iterations for finding their way to today.

Under the tree, with the sun kissing my face, I felt immensely grateful – for the people in my life, and for its unfolding potential. Just for a moment, I zoomed out beyond the birds, remembering what a gift it is to be given this flicker of time.

Waking alone, and early, I embarked on a day of doing. This motion—a symptom of the city and era I inhabit—veils a deeper yearning. One that I am gently—though with trepidation—allowing myself, through habitual stillness, to feel more regularly.

I feel immensely privileged to have choice—a truth I once overlooked during chapters of fearful and painful stagnation. Having met these depths, I strive to always make choices that are brave, difficult, and kind—even at the risk of getting them ‘wrong.’ I also strive to transform this privilege into a gift for both planet and people.

Being introduced to the experience—mind, body, and spirit—of feeling well and aligned is a profound gift. From this place, it becomes unthinkable to sabotage myself as I once did or to accept such a low bar for my daily existence. It strikes me that these glimpses—across love, purpose, family, community, and wellbeing—are vital in showing others that there is another way. Perhaps this is why I feel called to do the work that I do.

A daily mantra—etched now on my ribs—is to trust that the Earth knows the way of me. A reminder that when it feels as though I am cutting the wood against the grain—seeking someone, something, or some outcome that does not seek me—I am moving in an unnatural direction. Instead, I endeavour to yield to the flow of the river; an emboldening dance between faith and fear.