The Gifts We Don't Expect

February is a month packed with reasons to celebrate. Black History Month, American Heart Month, Groundhog Day, Valentine's Day, Random Acts of Kindness Day, and if you happen to be Canadian, National Flag Day. There's even Galentine's Day for those who prefer celebrating friendship over romance.

But the one day most people don't realize lands in the middle of all this celebrating? February 15th.My birthday.

Today I turn 65, and in my little world, it's a big day. Some people forget their birthdays or feel they're pointless. Not me. My birthday has always felt special, even when the universe didn't exactly agree.

Like the year Doreen and Mic had been away at a formal event, and upon their arrival home, I was presented with her wilted corsage as a "placeholder" for my birthday gift. Or the year my first husband gave me a cheap pink ceramic vase with little red hearts painted on it—and it was empty. Yep, no flowers. What a swell guy. And how can I forget the year I was called to the ER at Evergreen Hospital to attend to Mic, who was later admitted for yet another hospital stay, while Doreen passed out in the hallway and was rushed into the ER on the same very same night. I remember thinking: What did I do to deserve this?

Clearly, there was a lot of uncertainty swirling around that year.

But here's the thing: for all the unfortunate times, the good memories always surface to the top. There have been a lot of happy birthdays over the years—ones filled with laughter, warmth, and people who genuinely saw me. And now I know that sometimes in the moment, things feel horrible and it's so easy to have a little pity party for ourselves. What I've learned is that when things feel heavy and the walls of the trench seem impossibly high, when it's hard to see a way out, that's precisely when I need to ask myself: What am I meant to see here in all this darkness?

Byron Katie talks about loving what is—not in a passive, roll-over-and-take-it way, but in a way that frees you from wrestling with reality. The empty vase, the wilted corsage, the hospital drama—they all happened. I can't rewrite them. But I can choose what I do with them. I can see them as proof that I wasn't valued, or I can see them as part of a much larger story about resilience, perspective, and learning to find the light even when someone forgets to turn it on for you.

That cheap pink vase with the little red hearts? I kept it for years. Not because I loved it, but because every time I looked at it, I was reminded of something important: it's not about what happens to us. It's about what we choose to see, and what we decide to make of it.

This year feels different. I'm stepping into what I'm calling my 2026 Adventure—a season of letting go, packing up, and moving toward something I can't fully see yet but can absolutely feel. I'm putting my belongings into storage, releasing what no longer fits, and making space for fun, adventure, and the kind of receiving I've spent most of my life being terrible at. It's equal parts thrilling and terrifying, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

Because here's what I know now at 65 that I didn't know at 25, 35, or even 55: life isn't about avoiding disappointment. It's about learning to hold it lightly. To let it inform you without defining you. To see that sometimes the empty vase is actually teaching you that you get to fill your own life with beauty.

If you're standing in a season right now where things feel uncertain, heavy, or like they're not quite what you'd hoped for—maybe a birthday that didn't feel special, a relationship that's shifted, or a chapter that's ending before you were ready—I want you to know this: you're not looking at it wrong. You're learning to look at it differently. And that difference? That's where everything changes.

You get to choose what you see. You get to decide what this moment means. And you get to step into your own adventure, even if you can't see the full picture yet.

Here's to birthdays that surprise us, disappointments that teach us, and the courage to keep celebrating anyway. If you're standing at your own threshold—ready to pack up what no longer serves you and step toward what you can't quite see yet—you don't have to do it alone. I'm here, and I'd be honored to walk alongside you.

Love, Light, and Cheers!
Michèle