Yesterday was my birthday.  It was also the final day of the Snake year.

It was quiet.

It was hard in places.

It was full of long-distance love from family and friends who refused to let geography define connection. 

And it was a hard workday.

It was not dramatic. Not chaotic. But heavy in that quiet way where a few more alignments are happening for the business, unexpected and don’t feel celebratory in the moment, but you know they’re right.

There wasn’t space to sit in birthday sentiment.  Somewhere inside all of that, I felt the distance.

No family in the kitchen.

No familiar voices around the table.

No one who has known me since childhood blowing out candles with me.

Birthdays magnify geography, and yet my phone told a different story.

Calls. Texts. Messages. Long-distance love from the people who have carried me for decades.  I may be building a life far from home, but I am not building it without love.

Still, by the end of the day, I was tired and feeling tender.  Aware that the Snake year was closing and something else was beginning. So I went to my safe spot.

The Golf Club Bar & Grill…

Birthday martini, familiar seat, and a friend, who shows up almost every night navigating his own kind of quiet as his wife now lives in memory care. He comes for his beer and dinner, routine as his anchor.

He didn’t know it was my birthday. We didn’t need a big conversation. Just familiar presence.

Two people who understand that life changes shape. That love evolves. That absence doesn’t erase devotion. There was something grounding about that moment.

And then this morning arrived, the first day of my Fire Horse year.

Executive presentation.

Back-to-back meetings.

Decisions.

Momentum.

It was busy. Focused. Productive.

Successful.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, I caught myself wondering:

Was it the red shirt? Or do I owe a bit of gratitude to the 🐍 and the 🐎?

Because here’s the truth:

The Snake did the quiet work.

It taught me how to sit in silence.

How to survive distance.

How to love without possession.

How to build a life even when it feels unfamiliar.

It refined me. The Horse doesn’t refine. It moves.

It asks for courage in real time.

It asks you to show up before you feel perfectly ready.

It asks you to lead anyway.

Maybe the red shirt was just the signal. Not defiance. Not armor.

Alignment.

I didn’t walk into those meetings as someone trying to prove anything. I walked in as someone who has shed enough to know who she is.

So yes, I’ll give a little credit to red.

But most of the gratitude belongs to the year that strengthened me quietly… and the one that is now asking me to run.

🐍 ➝ 🐎

And just like that, the gate is open.