Happiness Matters Foundation - Notes from the Wild - Blog #Happy Birthday

Holy Shift! What the Fuck Happened???

Mon, 27 Jul 2026 11:17:13 -0600

Oh... I blinked...
They say the first sixty years of childhood are always the hardest.

Well... I couldn't agree more.

Actually, when you stop and think about it, that's kind of a ridiculous statement. Sixty years? Childhood? Whoever came up with that must have had one heck of a life. Then again... maybe they were onto something.

They also say time flies when you're having fun.

If that's true, I apparently had way more fun than I realized because somewhere along the way I managed to make sixty trips around the sun.

Sixty.

What the freak happened?

I swear it was just yesterday that sixty sounded... old. You know... the kind of age that belonged to other people. Grown-up people. People who probably had life all figured out and knew what they wanted to be when they grew up.

Spoiler alert...

I still don't.

And honestly? I'm perfectly okay with that.

Looking back over sixty years is a strange thing. It's a little like opening one of those old junk drawers that everyone has. You know the one. You're looking for one thing, and suddenly you're finding birthday candles, rubber bands, batteries that may or may not still work, a random key that fits absolutely nothing you own anymore, and somehow... a tiny treasure you completely forgot existed.

That's what sixty feels like.

A wonderfully messy collection of moments.

Some of them make me laugh until I snort my coffee.

Some still sting a little if I sit with them too long.

Some I wish had lasted forever.

Others... well... let's just say I'm grateful they're safely in the rearview mirror.

Was it all bad?

Of course not.

Was it all good?

Also, of course not.

Was it all worth it?

Well...

Yeah.

Most of it anyway.

The older I get, the more I realize we humans have a funny way of measuring life. We count birthdays because they're easy to count. One year. Ten years. Twenty-five. Forty. Sixty.

But life doesn't actually happen in years.

Life happens in moments.

Lots can happen in six seconds.

A phone rings.

Someone says, "I love you."

Someone says goodbye.

Six minutes can completely change the direction of your day.

Six hours can change the direction of your life.

Six days can introduce you to someone who ends up changing everything.

Six months can leave you wondering how you're somehow both the same person and a completely different one.

And six years?

Holy shift.

An entirely different life can fit inside six years.

Come to think of it, when I look back over the last six years alone, it's almost hard to believe it's the same lifetime. Books were written. Dreams that had quietly waited their turn finally stepped into the light. A nonprofit found its footing. Home of Misfits was born. Persephone rolled into my life and somehow became much more than a van. Mr. Finite marched in carrying his clipboard as if he'd been here all along. The Infinite Council quietly took their seats. My body threw me a few more plot twists, and somewhere in the middle of all of it, I stopped waiting for life to settle down before deciding to enjoy it.

Maybe that's what these sixty trips around the sun have really taught me.

Life never settles down.

It just keeps inviting us into the next adventure.

Sometimes that adventure looks exactly like we hoped.

Sometimes it looks absolutely nothing like we imagined.

And sometimes... if we're paying attention... we realize the detours ended up teaching us far more than the original destination ever could have.

Don't get me wrong. There are things I would absolutely do differently if I had the chance. There are words I wish I'd said sooner, fears I wish I'd ignored, and opportunities I wish I'd recognized while they were standing right in front of me instead of waving at me in the rearview mirror.

Then again...

If I changed too much, I might not end up here.

And honestly?

I kind of like it here.

Not because everything is perfect.

Good grief, not even close.

But because somewhere along the way I stopped chasing the idea that life was supposed to be perfect and started appreciating just how wonderfully, beautifully human it all is.

Messy.

Unexpected.

Heartbreaking.

Hilarious.

Hopeful.

Sometimes all before lunch.

Poor Mr. Finite probably isn't thrilled that I just turned sixty. He's undoubtedly standing over in the corner with his clipboard, trying to calculate exactly how much time we have left. Bless his little left-brain heart.

Meanwhile, I have a feeling the Infinite Council is just smiling.

Not because they know how many trips I have left around the sun.

But because they know something Mr. Finite is still learning.

This trip...

The one I'm on today...

Is the only one I've ever really had.

So here's to sixty.

Here's to every wrong turn, every right one, every plot twist, every belly laugh, every ugly cry, every rabbit hole, every "Holy Shift!" moment, and every human being who walked beside me for part of the journey.

Because if the first sixty years of childhood are the hardest...

I have a sneaking suspicion the next sixty are going to be a whole lot of fun.

What about you?

Funny thing about life...

None of us get the same story.

We don't get the same starting point, the same challenges, the same joys, or the same plot twists.

We each get our own wonderfully unique adventure.

But as long as we're still here, we're all holding the same pen.

We still get to write the next page.

That's exactly why the Happiness Matters Foundation exists.

We believe that as long as you draw a breath, you still carry a spark of hope within you. Sometimes that spark burns bright.

Sometimes life buries it beneath loss, fear, exhaustion, grief, or simply the weight of being human. But it's still there.

Our mission is simple.

We create opportunities where hope grows into action, possibilities begin to expand, and people remember that they don't have to navigate life's wild adventures alone.

So, if this little walk through sixty trips around the sun made you smile, reminded you of your own journey, or inspired you to keep writing your next chapter...

Would you help someone else keep writing theirs?

Whether you share this story, volunteer your time, become part of our growing community, or make a donation, you're helping another human being rediscover that spark of hope and take one more step forward.

Because the best birthday gift I could ask for isn't another candle on the cake.

It's knowing that together, we're helping someone else believe there's another page waiting to be written.

Let's grow hope together.

Shift happens...

Join the Adventure

Well... It's Complicated.

Sat, 04 Jul 2026 13:17:31 -0600

Turns out, that's not a problem.
Some of life's most meaningful moments don't ask us to choose between joy and concern. They simply invite us to make room for both.

Happy 250th birthday, America.

I woke up this morning with mixed emotions, and for a split second I caught myself thinking that maybe I shouldn't. Maybe today was supposed to be simple. Hang out the flag. Eat too much potato salad. Watch the fireworks. Celebrate.

Except here in Colorado, there won't be any fireworks.

Not because we forgot what day it is, but because the wildfire danger is simply too high. Instead of looking forward to fireworks lighting up the night sky, we're watching fire maps and hoping the brave firefighters battling these massive fires get a little help from Mother Nature. Last night, the smoke hanging over Colorado turned the moon into the most incredible shade of deep red. It was absolutely beautiful... and completely heartbreaking at the same time.

As I sat there with my coffee this morning, staring out into the haze, I realized something.

This is perspective.

Not the smoke.

Not the holiday.

The fact that two completely different emotions were sitting at my table, sharing the same cup of coffee.

I was born in Germany, but in October of 2007, I became an American citizen. I still remember standing there, raising my right hand and taking the oath. I remember the excitement, the gratitude, and the overwhelming sense that I had chosen this country to become my home.

That feeling was real.

It still is.

So are the mixed emotions I have today.

For some reason, we've convinced ourselves that both things can't exist together. Somewhere along the way, we started believing that if you love your country, you have to pretend everything is wonderful. Or if you're disappointed by something you see, then somehow you've forfeited the right to celebrate any of the good.

Who came up with that nonsense?

Life has never been that black and white.

Neither are people.

Neither are relationships.

The longer I do this work, the more convinced I become that one of the greatest traps we fall into is believing there are only two choices. Right or wrong. Good or bad. Success or failure. With us or against us.

Perspective whispers something entirely different.

What if both things are true?

What if I can be deeply grateful to live in this country and still wish we treated one another with more kindness?

What if I can celebrate 250 years of extraordinary achievements while acknowledging we've also stumbled, sometimes spectacularly?

What if I can look at a smoky Colorado sky and feel sad about the fires, while at the very same time feeling incredibly grateful for the firefighters putting themselves in harm's way to protect complete strangers?

None of those thoughts cancel each other out.

They complete the picture.

I've noticed something over the years. Most of us don't actually struggle because life is complicated. We struggle because we keep trying to simplify it into two neat little boxes. We want everything to fit into "good" or "bad," "right" or "wrong," "us" or "them."

Life just smiles and says, "Cute idea."

Then it hands us a reality where joy and grief sit on the same park bench.

Where hope and uncertainty share the same zip code.

Where gratitude and concern ride home together.

Maybe that's why I love perspective so much.

It doesn't ask me to pick a side.

It simply asks me to see a little more.

Today, I don't have to ignore the things that concern me in order to celebrate becoming an American citizen nearly nineteen years ago. I don't have to pretend everything is perfect to feel grateful for the opportunities this country has given me. And I certainly don't have to choose between celebrating America's birthday and praying for rain over Colorado.

I can do both.

Maybe growing up isn't about becoming more certain.

Maybe it's about becoming more spacious.

Making room for more truth.

Making room for more compassion.

Making room for the possibility that someone else's perspective might contain a piece of the picture I haven't seen yet.

If there's one thing America has taught me over the past nineteen years, it's that we're still becoming.

After 250 years, we're still learning.

Still growing.

Still arguing.

Still dreaming.

Still trying.

And honestly...

So am I.

Maybe that's why this country feels like home.

Not because it's perfect.

Because it's a work in progress.

Then again, aren't we all?

So today, I'm raising my Happiness Matters mug to a country that is still writing its story, to the people who keep showing up even when they disagree, and to the quiet hope that tomorrow we'll all see just a little more of the picture than we did yesterday.

Because if perspective has taught me anything, it's this:

You can love something...

...and still want it to do better.

I think that's one of the healthiest kinds of love there is.

One More Reason I'm Celebrating Today...

As America celebrates 250 years of becoming, I'm celebrating a beginning of my own.

This month, the Happiness Matters Foundation is inviting 60 Founding Members to become the very first members of the Hope Collective.

Why sixty?

Because later this month, I'll celebrate my 60th birthday.

After spending a lifetime learning, stumbling, growing, questioning, and helping people find a different perspective, it felt like the perfect way to celebrate this next chapter — not by receiving gifts, but by inviting others to help create something that will outlive all of us.

The Hope Collective isn't about me.

It's about us.

It's about proving that hope isn't just a nice idea. It's something we can put into motion together.

If you've ever wished the world had a little more kindness...

A little more curiosity...

A little more compassion...

A little more perspective...

Then maybe this is your invitation.

Because just like this country, we're building something that won't be perfect on day one.

We're simply committed to making it a little better than it was yesterday.

And I can't think of a more fitting way to celebrate a birthday — America's or mine.

If you'd like to become one of the 60 Founding Members of the Hope Collective, we'd be honored to have you join us.

Together, let's put a little more hope into motion.