I’m a Super Bowl baby. On January 22, 1989 the San Fransisco 49ers were playing the Cincinnati Bengals and my dad was found in the cafeteria watching the game on a “break” when my mom got the go from the doctors to push. The nurses had to go find him. It’s January 22, 2016 today, and today I turn 27. It’s 5:55pm as I begin to write these words, and numerology wise that means a triple force of dynamic motion, change, and freedom. Sounds about right.  

The perfectionist in me secretly knows it’s not aaaactually my birthday yet as I was born PST at 2:48pm. I remember being in elementary school and getting onto the school bus to go home; I’d ask the bus driver the time, watching the clock, excited and waiting for the exact moment to arrive. I’d sit back and relax into my seat once 2-4-8 finally hit. I’d look out the window, smile to no one but myself and watch the world pass by. It’s funny to remember this and see how even at a young age I cared about detail and precision, accuracy and truth. And the truth is that in this moment, 27 years ago, I was still in the womb, Mama working hard to welcome me into the world. Oh what a world I was about to breathe into <3 

Today has been sweet and simple. Love-filled and mellow. I awoke to hilarious and inappropriate balloons scattered about my work area, a cardboard box filled with loads of random key chains, rulers, apples, Japanese cookies, pencils, patches – pretty much anything absurd the crew could find. Candice, the lodge’s head chef, baked me the most amazing cinnamon coffee cake from scratch. We finished the cake in one sitting. It was delicious. 

I had intended to take a quick nap and then spend the afternoon on the mountain but I ended up sleeping for four hours and awoke disappointed that the day had passed. Usually I’m pretty agile when things don’t go as I’d hoped, but for some reason I had a hard time accepting the afternoon’s unfolding. Mama Bear and I got to skype and just seeing her face made me feel better. She’s the only person I make sure I talk to on my birthday. The funky waves passed and mellow vibes stayed. Papa was able to pop in for a minute, too. He asked me if I had a new ring in my nose. Told me to come home. I love them so much. 

Reflecting on past birthday’s I remember the blog I posted last year – “26”. It was one of my very first entries and I smile at thinking how I’ve been at this for a year now. 25 was spent jumping out of a plane, 24 marked the week I signed up for yoga teacher training and 23 was celebrated in Ecuador with my best friend Jackie and the shaman that we lived and farmed with. 22, my golden year, was spent with dear friends in Boston during my last year living and studying on the east coast. The list of blessed birthdays goes on, and moves forth. I can only imagine what the years to come will bring.

To the year of 27 – the best one yet.

May it be balanced, bold and brilliantly ablaze.