Location: Menauhant Beach in Falmouth
Born on January 31, 1958—on a cold, overcast day with winter drizzle falling over Mount Vernon, New York—I turn 68 today, carrying both the weather and the wisdom of a long, layered life. This morning’s photograph feels like a quiet conversation between then and now: ice sculpted by tide, a horizon warming itself into gold, the ocean reminding me that even in the coldest seasons, movement and light persist. I have known deep joy and life-challenging storms, grief and grace, tenderness and resilience, and all of it has taught me to live one day at a time, with intention and gratitude.
I love this life—the environments that hold me, the friends who walk beside me, the beauty that still stops me mid-breath—and I remain thankful for the many blessings that have found me, even when I didn’t know I was looking. Today, like the shoreline, I stand weathered, luminous, and still in love with becoming.
January Light by Ocean Eversley
And because life also insists on laughter, I’ll add this: despite all that wisdom, gratitude, and spiritual grounding, I still occasionally lose my reading glasses while they’re on my head, talk back to the GPS like it has a personal vendetta against me, and seriously consider whether the ocean is judging my balance on icy sand. Growth, it turns out, does not include becoming graceful at all times—or warm, or perfectly organized. So I laugh, bundle up, keep moving, and remind myself that joy sometimes looks like slipping a little, catching yourself, and realizing you’re still standing, still smiling, and very much alive.
