somehow sixty
how did I get here?
On May 18th, I celebrated my birthday. Sixty. Years. Old. How the fuck did that happen? To be fair, I’ve been saying I’m “almost 60” for the past twelve months in preparation for this moment and as a means to soften the blow.
If anyone had told me what these past ten years would have been like, I’m not sure I would have believed them, yet somehow, here we are. To all my fellow Taureans, and there are many with whom I travel, we’ve reached the end of a seven-year cycle of chaos, and while I’m not fully clear as to what’s on the other side, somehow I’ve weathered the storm.
My fifties were a decade of tumult and transformation: I ended my twenty-two-year marriage and became an empty nester; for the first time since my twenties, I learned to adult on my own, and somehow stayed sober through it all. I went back to school to study Narrative Medicine and began to rewrite and heal illness stories I had carried throughout my life, first for myself and then for others. Slowly, I found the courage to name myself a writer (dare I even say a poet) when asked the confounding question, “What do you do?” and, in time, began facilitating writing circles, then writing + meditation retreats on Monhegan, which has expanded to include a residency program. I met my forever and always person, survived a pandemic, and far too many years of Trump. I thought I’d retired from teaching asana forever, until I found my way back. I found my way back to a lot of things, but mostly to the woman I always was. The woman who was buried inside.
I keep being told I don’t look sixty, and yes, while flattering, I don’t really know what that even means. Society has provided few role models for what it means to look sixty, which I’ve heard referred to as “successful aging,” because, if you haven’t noticed, women are not allowed to age, which, while not a good thing, is also a long conversation for another newsletter entirely.
Rather than rant about something I have no control over, my story is not about looking (or not looking) sixty but more about what it means to be sixty—and trusting that all I have ever needed was to be myself.
For my fiftieth birthday, I had a huge party that, in retrospect, feels both beautiful and tragic because it was a send-off from a life that was about to end, one which few knew was on the eve of my separation from my husband. Instead of seeing the event as an elaborate ruse, I’ve come to think of that night as a gracious farewell and a promise to all that would come to be.
I couldn’t be here had I not been there.
Turning sixty has been different—a bouquet of small, sweet celebrations strung between many days with the people I care most about in the world. A trip to Cleveland with my sweetheart, a birthday serenade from my yoga students, dinner with my parents, and a road trip with Evan to visit Noah at the Culinary Institute of America. Long conversations, shared plates of food, wholehearted laughter, and a whole lot of art. The gifts of aging with grace.
There’s an auspiciousness about stepping into sixty. It’s not exactly that I’m running out of time, but rather that the time I have feels precious, and the life I have created matters more. I still don’t have a clue what I’m going to be when I grow up, but as John wrote in my birthday card, “Sixty is a great place to start a new adventure,” and he’s right.
He loves it when I say he’s right.
All I know is I’m feeling grateful for this beautiful, messy life and those with whom I walk.
When I turned fifty-eight, I wrote a list of the things I love, the lessons I’ve learned, and those I lean into every day. As I embark on this next 365-day journey around the sun, many of them still hold true, but there have also been new discoveries, for life is nothing but an ever-expanding conversation.
So here’s to keeping the conversation going, and forever being a person in progress, because a self that keeps on changing is a self that keeps on living.1 Besides, most of being an adult is whispering “fuck this” while doing it anyway.
Because there was no other life.
I wear my Gen X proud like a 1980’s club stamp on the back of my hand.
But also check your vaccine history because if you were born in 1966, you may not have received two doses of the MMR series. Turns out I didn't, and, if you haven’t heard, fun fact, measles is once again a thing.
Running into an old friend when you least expect it can change the course of the whole day.
Being open to making new friends can be life-changing, too.
Pause is an action verb.
And “No” is a complete sentence.
To fully commit to loving another is harder than it looks, but it’s worth the effort.
Because it’s better to feel everything than nothing at all.
All women, all humans, have the right to their own bodily autonomy. Full stop.
I move best at the speed of slow, taking time to yield to the unexpected.
Still, sometimes you need to jump before you are ready and leave in order to arrive.
Ice. Not a fan. Not in my drinks, not to reduce swelling, and definitely not in the streets of Minnesota.
I’ve come to accept that I will never read all the books I buy, and that’s okay because sometimes, knowing you are supporting a fellow writer by valuing their work is enough.
Baking can be as forgiving as cooking. Case in point: once I got distracted making a batch of brown butter chocolate chip cookie bark and used only dark brown sugar instead of two different sugars, and I’ll never go back.
Sometimes, mistakes are merely sweet beginnings.
Oh, and psst, brown butter in everything is always worth the effort!
Even when it doesn’t feel that way, you’re getting better by simply showing up, by doing the work.
Trust the process.
And when you need help, ask. You don’t have to do everything all by yourself.
Because all flourishing is mutual.2
Monhegan. Always Monhegan.
And India.
Because you have to pick the places you don’t walk away from.3
Know when to pay attention and when to detach from the world. Especially the news. Especially now.
But also, in these current times, choose a cause. If you can, make monthly donations, make 5 Calls, make a sign, march with others, and for God’s sake—VOTE.
Boundaries. Full stop.
There’s nothing wrong with seeing Wicked twice in one day.
Or having an NBA league pass. Or looking forward to Taylor Swift and Travis Kelcie’s wedding.
Not everyone will like me, which doesn’t mean I need to change or be anything other than myself; everyone is allowed their opinions.
And everyone is doing the best they can.
Dogs. Preferably large.
Sea glass and smooth stones. Eggshells and wishbones. A friend who knows you well is a friend who sends you diminutive dove wishbones for your birthday.
Asana keeps me grounded in my body even when I’m upside down. Holding a pose is an invitation to practice when to stay and when to go.
P.S. I couldn’t do a handstand until I was forty.
So it’s never too late.
I’ve also come to terms with the fact that as my body ages (menopause, wtf), my practice looks different—I’m mostly okay with that, too.
If you want to avoid knee replacement surgery, start a strength training regimen. It’s not fun, but it works.
It’s true, I’m terrible at remembering birthdays, but I love sending handwritten letters and giving gifts for no reason.
Because when someone does something meaningful, let them know.
Fresh lime juice and seltzer water.
Writing Circles. The ones I facilitate; the ones in which I write.
Because the writing is already there. It has always been there.
My kids—even though they technically don’t qualify as kids anymore.
The ocean. Clouds. Any shade of blue.
Rummicub. After an extremely traumatic experience with Monopoly as a child, I’ve never been much of a player of board games, but this might be my sweet spot.
To be an overly sensitive overthinker is an awful combination. I’m doing my best to not to be overly influenced by one impulse or the other.
Find your true yeses; know your true nos.
Let it out. Let it go.
Everything you’re feeling, name it love.4
Clogs of many colors (Swedish Hasbeens has great sales). And, what do you think of these Famolare shoes?
And cream-colored turtlenecks. Actually, any-colored turtleneck. Even in summer.
There’s a difference between caring for people and carrying them.5
Don’t lie to me. Don’t keep secrets, thinking you are protecting. I want to know my part. Telling me the truth will never hurt my feelings.
RMS Beauty’s Kakadu Oil. Henry Rose Queens & Monsters perfume. Trader Joe’s Vanilla Lip Mask. INNBEAUTY extreme eye cream. And, if you have bangs, invest in a feather razor, then watch Jayne Matthews’ reels. Total game changer.
Which all goes to say, I can (still) care far more about my appearance, how I’m aging, how much I weigh, what my house looks like, and what other people think of me than I want to admit.
I’m working on it. I’m working on a lot of things.
Still. It’s a gift to no longer be a stranger to myself.
And to know that having enough is everything.
But never assume you already know your final chapter.
Turn the page and keep going.
Wishing to all a glorious day, and as always, thanks for reading ~ xosew
upcoming opportunities!
When Women Were Birds: murmuration, memoir, meditation September 16 - 20, 2026
For the sixth year, I invite you to join me for an intimate retreat on Monhegan. Our program is an embodied book group, journeying and journaling through the words of Terry Tempest Williams’s poetic memoir, When Women Were Birds: Fifty-four Variations on Voice with the seasons of the sea. The program is intended for women of all ages and stages of life—anyone who longs to learn or return to the practices of writing and meditation, to discover our stories through silence and speech.
only one space remains ~ will it be yours?
Gather in Grace Writing Residency September 20 - 23, 2026
Monhegan, ME
Have you ever dreamed of extending your creative time on Monhegan ~ just a few more days of quiet and space before returning to the bustle of daily life? Time to nurture a project you’ve been working on or begin something new: something inspired by your time on retreat, or something that’s been calling you, patiently waiting to be explored, something you’re not ready yet to let go?
For years, I have longed to offer a mini-residency designed to facilitate deep work and creative breakthroughs, so for the first time, you are invited to Gather in Grace ~ to take the next step into your creativity.
Each program is its own stand-alone experience, or the two can be combined.
and every week… . ..
gathering (in grace) notes • writing circle
Every Monday from 7:30 to 8:30 a.m. ET, start your week in creativity and community. Whether you already have a project whispering to you or are simply seeking a little inspiration, let’s write together!
We begin by greeting one another in the sleepy moments of the morning, then sit for a moment in silence before we write. Not sure where to start? Don’t worry ~ I always offer a poem and a prompt (or two) as a portal into possibility and discovery.
This is a free offering for all; however, if you find you are attending regularly and wish to make a donation in support, you can always buy me a book. Register once, and the link is yours forever ✍🏻
I am in awe of Sarah’s selection of poetry that she reads to us and the prompts she inspires for written response. Through this practice, I’ve learned that poetry is alive and stirs life within. Poetry creates context for all those matters of being human, and I feel blessed every time I show up to be with this group ~ Kris L, New Hampshire
lingering line
I have traveled so far through time to arrive at this moment awestruck.
May Sarton
Virginia Woolf
Robin Wall Kimmerer
Joan Didion
Andrea Gibson
This gem is courtesy of the fabulous Leslee Schenk Trzcinski💥🔥💥
Sarah, these footnotes are an added delight. They are their own set of stories.
Happy Belated Birthday, Sarah! I never knew our birthdays were so close to one another’s! Beautifully written, resonated with me so much. Right there with you, friend! 🥰