From JuJu with Love

I’ve been thinking about birthdays lately—how some arrive with parties and noise, while others slip in quietly. Some are marked with cake and candles. Others are remembered because of where we were, who was beside us, or what life was teaching us at the time.

When I was a kid, we had a pool in our backyard, and that meant pool parties and sleepovers.

From my tween years through college, birthdays usually meant summer at my cottage in Harbor Springs, surrounded by family and celebrating in the simplest, happiest way.

Except for my 15th birthday, which I celebrated on a teen tour of Europe with friends.

I didn’t remember spending my 15th birthday in Florence.
But Amy had the itinerary.
And then Linda had the pictures.
There I was, a 15-year-old girl in Europe with my eighth grade English teacher as a chaperone, completely unaware that travel would become one of the great loves of my life.

Turning 21 found me far from home, again, celebrating in Washington, D.C., during my internship. My friend Judy—my “soul sister”—was turning 21 that same day. We eventually discovered that we had been born on the exact same day, in the exact same hospital, and joked that we had been friends since birth. It was a birthday filled with independence, excitement, and the feeling that life was just beginning.

Some milestones were wrapped in family. My sister Katie got married the weekend of my 30th birthday, so that birthday became part of a much bigger family celebration.

My 40th was pure fun—girlfriends, Vegas, laughter, and memories that still make me smile.

And then there were the harder years.

My 46th birthday was spent with my mom in the hospital. She died a week later. That year changed how I mark time forever.

For years, on my birthday, I sent my mom flowers with a card that read, Happy birthday to me. Without you, I wouldn’t be.

My 50th wasn’t about a big party. It was quieter, more intentional—a moment of honoring health, resilience, and choosing myself.

Some birthdays are easy to remember because of where I was.
Some because of who was sitting across the table.
And some because I didn’t know, at the time, that I would one day ache for that exact ordinary moment.

J had a way of making birthdays ridiculous. In the best way. Silly voicemails. Off-key songs. Chocolate-covered strawberries with notes like, “You’re not old. You’re ripe.”

For 23 years whether we were together or apart, he found a way to show up. So yes, my 53rd birthday in Vegas belongs in this story too — even if the memory is complicated now. 

My 55th birthday was celebrated over Zoom during the pandemic—screens full of familiar faces, proof that even when the world shut down, connection still found a way.

But life has a way of returning joy in new forms.

Fifty-seven found me in Iceland, preparing to board a ship to Greenland.

Fifty-eight brought me to the beach in Zanzibar after two unforgettable weeks on safari in Kenya and Tanzania with friends.

And my 60th was celebrated in Niagara Falls and Toronto with friends who feel like chosen family.

Some birthdays were spent quietly on the couch, cuddling with Maizey. Every year, I receive cards and texts and phone calls—and sometimes flowers or chocolate-covered strawberries—all gentle reminders of how truly blessed I am.

And now, 61 arrived not with one big party, but with a thousand little reminders that I am loved.
Packages arriving on the porch. Calls and texts all day long. Facebook messages I couldn’t keep up with. Dinner with friends that lasted three hours because none of us wanted to leave. Gifts that said, in the most personal ways, we see you.
After years of complicated birthdays, this one felt different.
This one felt like joy.

Each birthday looks different.

Some are celebrations. Some are reckonings. Some are reminders of who I’ve loved, who I’ve lost, and who I’m still becoming.

As I celebrate 61, I find myself feeling less focused on the number and more grateful for the journey.

The people.

The memories.

The adventures still waiting ahead.

And as I look ahead to 65, 70, and beyond, I can’t wait to see what stories, places, and people are still waiting for me.

I’m curious… what has been your most memorable birthday celebration?

From Juju with love 💙✈️🎂