Today is December 31st.
New Year’s Eve.

And yesterday was my birthday.

December 30th — a day that lives in the in-between. After the rush of Christmas, before the shimmer of the New Year. A day that often gets softened, blurred, or skipped over entirely. For most of my life, that’s exactly how my birthday felt too.

But this year feels different.

This year, I turned fifty.

And instead of feeling heavy or dramatic, it feels… grounded. Like I’ve stepped into a clearing after a long walk and realized I’ve been heading here all along.

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The Shape of Nostalgia

Nostalgia has been close these past few days — not the aching kind, but the reflective kind. The kind that doesn’t pull you backward, but gently reminds you how far you’ve come.

I’ve always lived a little out of sync with time. My birthday landing between Christmas and New Year’s gave me that early. While the world rushed toward celebration or reset, I lingered in the in-between.

Over time, I made that space my own.

December 29 became Terra Eve.
December 30 is my birthday.
Then come New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day.

Four days that don’t demand reinvention — they allow integration.

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The Girl Who Chose to Tell the Story

Some of you may remember a story I shared early last year — one I carried quietly for decades before I ever gave it words. If you’d like to revisit that moment, you can read it here: Beyond the Prediction: A Life Reclaimed.

I didn’t tell that story when it happened. I didn’t even fully understand its weight for many years. It lived in my nervous system, in my sense of urgency, in my relationship with time.

When I finally shared it in early 2024, it wasn’t about reliving fear. It was about reclaiming authorship.

Every birthday since has carried a new tone.

Not dread.
Not countdown.
But awareness.

And here I am now.

Fifty.

Not untouched by life — but undeniably still here.

That alone feels like a kind of miracle.

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A Rare Alignment

This year, something rare happened.

After years of shifting geography and changing seasons, my family gathered around one table — my parents, my brother, my sister, my brother-in-law, my husband, my sons, and my best friend. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t staged. It was warm, familiar, and real.

The kind of moment you don’t photograph much because you’re too busy being inside it.

There is something profoundly grounding about being seen by people who know your whole story — not the polished version, but the long one. The messy one. The becoming.

I didn’t take a second of it for granted.

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Returning to Myself (Again and Again)

This season has also carried me back to myself in quieter ways.

I got my hair done — by someone new, someone vibrant and expressive. When I told her I loved her colorful hair but could never pull that off, she smiled and said, “You can still have fun with your hair — just in your way.”

And she was right.

She worked with contrast and softness, light and depth. When she turned the chair and I saw my reflection, I caught a glimpse of the thirteen-year-old me — the girl with jet-black hair and a white streak who thought she looked fearless.

Time folded in on itself for a moment.

I also got my nails done — for the first time in five years. That might sound small, but it wasn’t. It was a quiet declaration: I’m allowed to care for myself again.

Not to perform.
Not to impress.
But to inhabit my body with kindness.

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The Long Arc of Becoming

There’s something I want to name clearly, because it matters.

These shifts didn’t begin yesterday. They didn’t start with a haircut or a manicure or a birthday.

Before COVID, I lived in real estate — a world where appearance was part of the job. Hair done. Makeup intentional. Nails polished. It wasn’t vanity; it was professional language.

When that chapter ended in 2020, I didn’t just change careers. I shed an entire mode of being. Survival took precedence. Simplicity became necessary. Many outward expressions fell away — not because they were wrong, but because they weren’t essential in that season.

And even then, I was still caring for myself — just differently. Skincare instead of styling. Rest instead of presentation. Function over flourish.

Now, with more stability beneath my feet, I’m choosing what comes back — intentionally.

Not because I should.
Not because I owe anyone beauty.
But because I want to feel at home in my body again.

This isn’t regression.
It’s integration.

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The Gifts That Met Me Where I Am

The gifts I received this year reflected that beautifully.

A gym bag.
A water bottle that makes hydration feel ceremonial.
The coziest slippers imaginable.
And a smartwatch — which made me laugh out loud when I opened it.

I never pictured myself as a “smartwatch person,” but here I am — tracking movement, noticing patterns, learning how my body actually works.

It wasn’t about the object.
It was about the message: You’re doing this. Keep going.

And I am.

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Makeup, Masks, and Becoming

I’ve always had a complicated relationship with makeup.

As a child, it was play.
As a young woman, it became armor.
At times, it felt like permission to exist.

I’ve moved through seasons of embracing it and seasons of rejecting it. Now, I understand something gentler:

Makeup isn’t a mask unless I make it one.
It can be expression.
It can be choice.
It can be joy.

I get to decide how I show up.

That freedom feels earned.

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The Song That Found Me

For most of my life, my birthday song was “Forever Young.” It carried me through years when simply surviving felt like victory.

But this year, another song found me.

“I’m Still Standing.”

Not because I conquered anything.
Not because I proved something.

But because I stayed.

I stayed curious.
I stayed open.
I stayed when it would’ve been easier to shut down.

I’ve written before about my imagined dinner with Elton John — about how his music has followed me through different seasons of becoming. I didn’t realize then that one day his lyrics would feel less like nostalgia and more like truth. If you’d like to step into that memory with me, I wrote about it here: A Dinner with Elton John: A Dream Come True.

I’m still standing.

And that feels like enough.

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The Sky Agrees

Even the sky seemed to echo it.

The Moon in Taurus invited grounding, embodiment, comfort.
Mercury squaring Saturn called for honesty with integrity — not performance.
Mars aligning with the North Node encouraged forward movement without force.

It felt like a quiet affirmation:
You’re on the right path. Keep going — gently.

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What This Season Is Teaching Me

This birthday isn’t about reinvention.

It’s about integration.

I carry the woman who survived.
The one who softened.
The one who learned she’s allowed to take up space.

I’m not chasing youth anymore.

I’m choosing presence.

And if you’re reading this while standing in your own in-between — between who you were and who you’re becoming — know this: there is no rush. Some transformations unfold quietly, while you’re simply living your life.

I’m still standing.

And I’m grateful — deeply — to be here.

With love,
Terra