67 Things I Know For Sure
It's my birthday! And my daughter's birthday!
(One of my favorite birthday tableaux)
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Today is my birthday (and my daughter Emma’s birthday). I am, suddenly and without any warning, 67 years old; she is 34, a year older than the age I was when I had her. And here are 67 things I know for sure. Your mileage may vary.
Love grows when given freely.
Saying no is a complete sentence.
Rest is not a reward; it's a right.
Not everyone will understand you, and that’s okay.
You don’t owe anyone your story.
Laughter can heal a lot.
Grief is love with nowhere to go.
You can begin again—at any age.
Beauty deepens with time.
Trust your gut. It’s wiser than your brain sometimes.
There’s nothing noble about self-sacrifice if it erases you.
Children know more than we give them credit for.
Forgiveness is for your freedom, not their absolution.
Good socks matter. Also, always take a sweater and a good book wherever you go. And an index card. And a pen.
Drink the good tea/coffee.
Use the fancy soap.
You are allowed to change your mind.
Books can be lifelong friends.
Solitude is not loneliness.
You will never regret being kind.
Some people are soul family and soul friends.
Listen more than you speak (and never interrupt a child).
The body remembers—so treat it gently.
Joy can be a rebellion. (It is, as poet Toi Derricotte said, “an act of resistance.”)
It’s almost never too late to write a book.
Most things aren't as urgent as they pretend to be.
Nature is a reliable sanctuary.
You don’t have to earn your worth. Let me repeat that one: “You don’t have to earn your worth.”
Everything doesn’t have to be fixed.
Sometimes you just need to be witnessed.
Music can carry you through decades.
Rituals matter. Light the candles.
You get to decide who sits at your table. And who doesn’t.
Less stuff, more space.
Boundaries are an act of love.
It’s okay to outgrow people.
Learning never ends.
Crying is holy work.
There’s power in saying “I don’t know.”
Be curious instead of judgmental.
Your voice matters.
Your presence matters more.
Play is not just for children.
Aging is not a decline—it’s an unfolding.
Magic is real.
You are allowed to want more.
Time is not the enemy.
Your body has carried you through everything—thank it.
Traditions can be remade.
Small things often hold the most meaning.
Quiet is necessary.
Hope is a discipline.
You can hold both joy and sorrow.
The people who love you see the real you.
Let them take the picture.
Say the thing before it’s too late.
You can be soft and strong.
It's okay to not be okay.
The truth feels like freedom.
You are never too old to surprise yourself.
Grace is everywhere.
Start conversations with strangers.
Trust slow things.
You are still becoming.
Live there when you get there, not before. (Be fully where your feet are.)
Show up in person. Mail the letter. Lick the stamp.
This life—this exact one—is worth living with your whole heart.
Whether you're 26 or 86, maybe something here resonates with you. I’d love to hear what you know for sure, too.
With love,
Patti
My Darling Moo - happy newest candle. I'm so glad you were born. I'm thrilled that you have chosen to honor your gifts as a writer. When I try to describe how much I love you, I think of Paul Simon's lyrics: my heart still splashes inside my chest.
Happy hippy hoppy hoopy birthday.
You light all 67 candles on the cake of your life with panache.
Moo
Grateful for your words and wisdom (and phenomenally joyful photos) which always seem to hit me at just the right time. Happy Patti and Emma day. May you each experience a year ahead that holds all you deserve and desire.