There\u2019s something unexpected about turning 51. It\u2019s not the number itself\u2014it\u2019s the softness that\u2019s settled in me, the fullness that lingers, the quiet, resounding knowing that I am deeply, unequivocally loved. Not for what I do. Not for how I perform. But for who I am.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This birthday, more than any before it, cracked me wide open in the best way. From the moment the sun rose on the day, I felt held by something bigger than celebration. I felt seen. What a gift.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Several days before my birthday, I had dinner with my best friend of 20 years, Danette, and part of her family. It was nostalgic being back in my old stomping grounds. From there I made my way north to San Miguel and Paso Robles, where I celebrated with another dear friend, Paige – she has known me for half as long, but a bond runs deep. Most meaningful of all, I was with the three men who love me best. My two adult sons and my husband carved time out of their lives to be with me\u2014no small thing, and something I deeply cherish. To taste wine together, laugh across dinner tables, belly up to the bar at the Elkhorn, the local watering hole and simply be with one another was a quiet luxury. The weekend unfolded like a patchwork of heart-happy moments. Beneath the wide sky and vineyard air, I was reminded again that presence is the sweetest gift of all.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then came the steady hum of my daily life, which has its own kind of magic. Ending my birthday evening at Rancho Temescal, and having a dual celebration – twenty-five years of owning this pristine property with its timeless Spanish style equestrian center and courtyard to the horses neighing in their stalls and the mustard seed laden hills in the distance. Most importantly, its the RT community who continues to astonish me with their warmth and wonder. These aren\u2019t just acquaintances. They are hardworking and honest people who reflect back to me the parts I\u2019m still learning to embrace\u2014solid, productive, spirited, determined and full of integrity. They fill in the spaces I sometimes forget to tend to and demonstrate time-worn loyalty which is often considered a lost art. And then there are friends like Esmeralda and Bonnie, who show up and shower me with intentional gifts that feel like little notes from the universe reminding me: You are known. You are loved. You matter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
And just when I thought my heart couldn\u2019t swell anymore, Becky\u2014my 80-years-young neighbor and everyday angel\u2014appeared with her signature grace and generosity. Homemade pound cake, tender madeleines, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot wrapped in golden fabric, and a potted Columbine plant whose purple blooms look like little architectural wonders. She\u2019s the kind of woman who understands the weight of gestures. Her presence in my life is a quiet miracle, and this year, she made me feel deeply cherished in a way only she can.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There are no fireworks in this kind of love. No grand gestures to photograph or post. It\u2019s quieter. It hums beneath the surface. It fills you without fanfare. It brings tears to your eyes when you\u2019re alone in your kitchen, holding a card or cutting into a cake made by someone who sees you\u2014not the version you present, but the real, raw, radiant you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t know if I\u2019ll ever fully understand the ways people touch our lives. How they find us. How they love us. How they stay. But at 51, I\u2019ve stopped trying to dissect it. I\u2019m learning to just let it in. To receive. To be grateful, even when words fail me\u2014which they often do these days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
What I know is this: I feel full. Brimming. As if every kindness, every toast, every handwritten note has been poured into some invisible vessel I carry within me. And this year, it overflowed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
So here I am\u2014fifty-one and overflowing. Humbled. Honored. Loved in ways I never saw coming, and may never fully grasp. But I\u2019ll spend the rest of my life trying to reflect that love back into the world.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because this is what 51 feels like.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Full. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
As a little girl, I would pluck a dandelion gone to seed, close my eyes tight, and blow its feathery wishes into the sky, hoping they would carry my dreams somewhere magical. Today, I hold one again – not to wish for something more, but to offer gratitude for all thats already taken root. For the unexpected beauty, the quiet growth, and the love that surrounds me like sunlight on life’s wide, open road. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
There\u2019s something unexpected about turning 51. It\u2019s not the number itself\u2014it\u2019s the softness that\u2019s settled in me, the fullness that lingers, the quiet, resounding knowing that I am deeply, unequivocally loved. Not for what I do. Not for how I perform. But for who I am. This birthday, more than any before it, cracked me […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":954,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[15,32,29,27],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-953","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-hope-love","category-living","category-personal-contemplation","category-reflection"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/953","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=953"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/953\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":960,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/953\/revisions\/960"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/954"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=953"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=953"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/prolificpreambles.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=953"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}