Everyone talks about the Jordan Year, and they mean the year of 23. You know what? For me, that was a wild year, and there are some pieces I can remember with a lot of detail, and a lot I will never get back. Like the fact that it was the year I moved from Memphis to Washington DC without a job, after sending out hundreds of resumes and job applications, and by sending out, I mean printed, addressed envelopes and mailed them. It was late 2003, the internet was definitely a thing, but so was the mail.

Looking back I’m realizing how I clearly manifested the life I was creating by making a decision to leave comfort and go toward my dream, and I had 2 offers within 2 days of arriving.

As much as I’m still grateful for getting a job so quickly, that year was hard. I was 23, working my first big girl job, making less than $30k (it was closer to $25k but I can’t remember which side a little more or a little less) a year and I had a a long metro commute each way because I could not afford to live any closer to the city. I could barely afford to both eat and have a life. The annual Washington Post intern issue was the best because it gave us a new list of very cheap places to eat during the summer. It was the best. But it was hard.

No one ever really talks about the Jordan Return year of 45, I mean other than Jay-Z, obviously. He was still great but he was older. He’d experienced life differently for a bit. He was grieving the horrific loss of his father, and ultimately switched numbers during the season back to 23.

While I understand the feeling of wanting to go back in time, and the comfort of that 23, having lived through all but a few hours of my 45 year, I would not trade it for anything. This year has been truly transformational. I’ve healed and grown more this year than any other year in my life. It’s no surprise it was my 5 year in numerology which is connected to change, freedom and adventure.

I recognize that aging is a gift. Waking up every day is a gift. Every day that I get to watch the sunrise with coffee in my porch or out the window or balcony of a hotel is a good day. Every day that I get to run with friends is a good day. Every day that I get to challenge myself somehow is a good day. That doesn’t mean life is perfect, but it means that I’m alive. Not everyone gets that chance.

A few things from my 45 year worth revisiting:

• At Christmas I did a Temazcal ceremony at the resort I stayed at in Mexico. It was incredible. I love learning about new rituals in the places they actually came from and this one was special.

• On the other end of the heat spectrum, this summer I did a cold plunge in a snow runoff river in North Vancouver and it was one of the most magical experiences I’ve ever had. I could feel the earth giving me all the healing vibes that day.

• I found a new therapist after the one I had seen for years needed to take a break for her own health, and the timing was perfect as I was ready for something a different. In finding a new therapist, I also found a spiritual home with a new reiki practitioner and had my first two angelic guidance sessions that were honestly life changing.

• I ran my first two half marathons since I broke my foot in 2016. I may still be chasing a new PR, but I am incredibly proud of the work I did to toe those lines 8 weeks apart. And incredibly grateful for the coaching and support I got from Lauren through that process.

• I found a home at The Exchange and the people there have become some of the friends I am most grateful for in this season of life, despite the fact that I am at least 15 years older than most of them. They push me to do hard things, to give myself grace, and cheer me on as much as I do for them.

• I started putting more boundaries in place at work so I could have a little more life in my work life integration. Although I’m on PTO, I know I need to join a few meetings, but no one is making me but me and that’s only to try to stay sane next week.
• I started exploring ideas to be more creative. That included relaunching this blog, starting to write a novel, and picking the brains of some great people about how to do a little more of the things that set my soul on fire.

• I started talking to plants and literally hugging trees. As I leaned into my witchy and woo woo side, I started to realize that abundance of as easier to recognize when I was more outwardly grateful. So thanking the trees and the plants and the animals for existing and being beautiful is now a regular part of my life.

• The fact that I hug trees, literally, makes me a little weird and that was pointed out to me on a dating app recently. It was one of the many reasons I decided the apps and I are done. My person and I will find each other, but Hinge is not going to be the way.
• I let someone go when I knew it was not what I wanted and that quickly opened me up for someone else, who quickly broke my heart a little bit. Not because we had anything deep or he was all that great, it was just a weird and sad ending to something I’d been hopeful about.
• I started to let go of things I’ve been carrying that were never mine to carry, or things that someone had made me believe about myself so deeply I truly thought it was who I was.
• And with that I’ve started to live a little bigger, with a little more love and joy, and a lot more authenticity. If you don’t like this version of me, kindly step aside and let me keep going.

Take it from me, on the precipice of 46, before you ache to return to a different age or time, take stock in all the things you learned each year as you’ve had the privilege of aging.

I realize I’m at an age where women are supposed to start to hide ourselves both literally and figurativelyj, but none of that appeals to me. I’m just coming into my own, and I’ll be showing up anywhere I want to be, however I want. The comfort of aging is that while the world wants to make us invisible, we hold the money and the power, so we can make them pay attention. We show up, loudly.

So if you need me, that’s what I’ll be doing. Showing up. Loudly.