This week’s post is late — sorry! — because I spent last week turning 50. It’s also personal, because i spent last week turning 50.

One of my early boyfriends was a guy who had the same birthday I did. After dating for several months, we split up a few weeks before I turned 22. We tried to stay friends, but when I got mad that he hadn’t put much thought into celebrating my birthday, his response was: “You’re not 11.” Boy, bye.

Humans crave meaning. It’s natural to seek out rituals that help us commemorate momentous occasions and figure out what they signal. When somebody makes a big deal about their birthday, they might appear to just be seeking attention and presents — and maybe sometimes they are — but I’d guess that at least as often, what they really want is to feel something. They want a message, a teaching, a signal, an affirmation; they want transcendence. 

Bad movies and stories have convinced us that those kinds of moments only happen when someone else creates them for us without our knowledge. This is a toxic fiction. One of my biggest personal breakthroughs was when I realized a few years back (with assistance from Big Magic and The Artist’s Way) that I can and should create as much enchantment as I can for myself.

I started thinking about how to celebrate my 50th birthday a little over a year ago. One friend suggested spending the year doing 50 things that scared me, which seemed like too much planning. Another suggested organizing a group trip somewhere I longed to go, which sounded like being responsible for others’ well-being and entertainment for kind of a long time, no thanks. I wondered if I should plan a week of seclusion to coincide with the actual day, or just a solo trip to a fabulous spa, but my overwhelming sense was that I wanted and needed other people around for it.

One thing I knew I should do as the year unfolded: Heartily welcome opportunities to challenge myself and deepen my relationships with the people I love. So when a friend invited me to South Africa to celebrate her 50th with a bunch of friends, I said YES. And when another messaged me on my 49th birthday asking if I’d join her family in hiking the 110-mile alpine Tour du Mont Blanc this summer, I said YES.

I also planned some other bucket-list journeys. One was a therapeutic mushroom trip; another was a trip with my newly affianced partner to New Mexico, whose hot springs I’ve pined for since pre-pandemic. 

All the while, I occasionally thought to myself that I needed to plan a gathering. I love throwing big parties — hosting and introducing friends to each other is one of my favorite things — but hosting is also stressful, and it’s a ton of work. Did I want to take that on during what was supposed to be a celebratory time all about me me me?

I put it off. I spent the year testing and deepening friendships, building and sustaining new physical strengths, spelunking the depths of my own mind, and adventuring with people I adore. It was great, and some of it was also pretty challenging. And as it unfolded, I began to notice a pattern: Each experience yielded the richest rewards when things didn’t go as planned. 

I had a clear idea of what it meant to be Ready™ for most of these undertakings. I did not actually achieve it before showing up for any of them. The best memories I have of all of them are of what happened, and how I reacted, when I was caught unprepared. It’s in those moments where I did the most learning this year, and it’s also where I experienced the most exhilaration and contentment.

In early July, I started fretting in earnest about this birthday. I had no plans, and the day was now two months away. I started soliciting ideas, went down a few party planning rabbit holes, and contacted a few event venues. I quickly started to feel overwhelmed.

Something I’d read in Priya Parker’s genius book, The Art of Gathering came to mind (I’m paraphrasing): before you worry about an event’s logistics, you need to answer some questions. What do you want the event to actually do? How do you want it to make people feel?

As I noodled on that and made some new plans, one million other things happened. We went under contract on a home, then bailed. I got Covid. I planned a parental birthday. We got a new kitten. Our dog got really sick. We went on vacation for a week. Family came to visit. I exploded our kitchen several times over, and stuffed a truly shocking amount of food in our fridge and freezer. I spent several weeks exceedingly busy and tired.

Tl;dr: Last week, I pulled off a party for 50 people at a private home in Atlanta. I made many of my favorite foods, and trucked in lights and candles and food and drink and fans and bug spray and rugs. And I asked attendees to bring, in lieu of gifts, a three-to-five-minute story about a time they showed up even though they didn’t know what they were doing.

It – surprise! – did not go as planned. Just as the cocktail hour came to an end, the purple skies cracked open, pouring torrents of rain into Atlanta’s thirsty soil and soaking the patio where the event was meant to happen. Sodden bodies crammed into the house with no small amount of drama. It was clear we’d need to move the event inside. People filled their plates and settled on the furniture and the floors. 

I explained the unofficial theme of both the party and the past year of my life was “Good enough is good enough,” introduced a professional storyteller friend who’d agreed to emcee the event, and storytime began. 

It wasn’t the softly lit garden party I’d envisioned, but you know what? It was perfect. The storytellers and the listeners leaned into the magical chaos of the moment and together, we laughed, learned, cried, and sang. When it was over, I felt like I’d crossed a physical threshold. Behind me was perfectionism and anxiety about getting things right; before me was something more expansive: compassion for myself and others, an okayness with things being okay.

Most importantly, I felt something, and I’d hazard a guess most everybody else who was there did, too. At least for me, it was transcendent.

The stress of pulling the event off is part of what made it unforgettable. Still, next time, I’m hiring a caterer. (As my partner Bill said, that’s what 50-year-olds do.)

As a bonus, and an apology for not posting last week, I’ll share the story I told in my next post. Hope everyone’s having a good week.

Thrown any great parties lately? Tell me all about them at [email protected], fill out this form, or find me on Signal at kerenlandman.07.

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