This year, I chose to spend my birthday at my wood. It felt right, a return to what I did on my 65th, when I marked the day with reflection, looking back at the year gone by and forward to what might come.
I’d already had a week of holding space for a Vision Quest, which gave me time to think about what I wanted to carry forward and what I was ready to let go. But my birthday in the Wood was different. It wasn’t just my reflections I carried; it was also the words and stories that others offered me.
Some friends sent poems and readings, words chosen with care, which gave me fresh perspectives to sit with under the trees. Others shared memories, small but powerful reminders of chapters in my own life that I might never have thought to recall.
My sister wrote about when I was 17, working in London. She remembered visiting with my mum and dad, and how I had taken her to see Emerson, Lake and Palmer at Earl’s Court. I do remember that. What I had forgotten was that afterwards, I apparently introduced her to some friends and said, “Oh, and so-and-so used to play with Traffic.” I knew I spent time at the Marquee Club, and that I met plenty of musicians, but the detail of who and when has slipped. That’s why these reminders matter. They return pieces of our story to us.
Kirsten reminded me of my second Vision Quest, when the rain fell without stopping. I had trudged out into the mud, rain gear pulled tight, and she wondered if I’d come back. But I stayed, knowing, as anyone who has done a Vision Quest knows, that you get the weather you need. My first Quest had been all sunshine; the second needed to be different.
And then there were the words from younger friends, people 15 years or more my junior. Each of them spoke about how I inspire them, not in grand gestures but by showing that ageing isn’t something to fear. That wisdom grows with time, and that life can be embraced with energy and openness even as the years advance. These words meant more than I can easily say. They reminded me why I do what I do, why reflection is so central for me: because often we don’t hear how our life has touched others, unless we pause long enough for them to tell us.
I gathered all these stories close. They are now part of the fabric of this birthday, alongside my own reflections.
And then, after a day of quiet in the Wood, I came home. I had twenty minutes to change before heading out to meet my good friend Geoffrey. A night of live music followed, full of energy, laughter, and conversation. Perhaps it was the balance of the day, the stillness of the Wood followed by the pulse of music, that made it so enlivening.
It reminded me that both are needed. Silence and story. Solitude and community. Reflection and celebration.
