It was a few days before my birthday, deep in the never-ending month of January — I’m guessing it was somewhere around the 39th. This year, my birthday fell on a Tuesday, lamest of all days.
So I decided to celebrate early with a birthday ski at Park City Mountain. I invited my friends to meet at the bottom of Silver Lode. We’d ride the lift up for a group photo by the THIS IS YOUR MOUNTAIN sign up top.
When I arrived at Silver Lode, Larry, Jake and Chris were already there. Moments later, Kathy and Jess skied up and the six of us loaded onto the lift. At the top, we skated over to the THIS IS YOUR MOUNTAIN sign, where Jake whipped out a big, spray-painted sheet from his backpack.
With a wind-whipped flick, he and Larry covered the word YOUR, and suddenly it read THIS IS KATE’S MOUNTAIN. Then Larry reached into his pack and pulled out a bottle of Veuve for a toast while some random guy snapped our photo.
That single, unexpected gesture said more than any extravagant gift ever could. It was pure joy — but joy these days is fleeting.
The night before my actual birthday, I laid awake for hours, my brain spinning out of control. Knowing I shouldn’t, I reached for my iPhone. Instantly, the headlines poured in: chairlifts falling from the sky, record-high temperatures, the abrupt end of USAID, DEI and because apparently that wasn’t enough, reports of an unelected billionaire-backed geek squad taking over the U.S. Treasury.
And while the Earth was heating up, so were the rumors of ICE raids in our local schools and churches.
Who was I to celebrate in a world that’s burning — literally, politically and existentially? It felt like a better idea to just stay in bed and wait for the next big snowstorm so I could bury my head in the pow.
How do we fix anything when everything feels broken? It’s a question I’ve been wrestling with, and I recently came across an idea that puts it in perspective.
Jeff Guenther, a professional therapist who has over a million Instagram followers @therapyjeff, has some great insights on the question. He talks about it in terms of the sphere of concern versus the sphere of influence.
The sphere of concern is everything that matters to you but that you personally have little to no control over. The sphere of influence, on the other hand, is where you can actually make a difference. It’s how you show up for others, where you spend your money, how you set boundaries — online and in real life.
The problem is, social media and the demand to be constantly informed have ballooned the sphere of concern to monstrous proportions. So much so that we’re made to feel as if we have to care about everything, everywhere, all at once. And if we dare to step away — even for a little birthday bubbly — we worry we’ve become part of the problem.
Maybe protecting our sphere of influence is about protecting ourselves, starting with how we begin each day. New York Times-bestselling author and artist Austin Kleon has a simple, yet radical idea: don’t wake up to the news.
Before bed, he advises to plug your phone into an outlet in another room. When you wake up, instead of picking up your phone, pick up a book. Go for a run. Listen to Mozart. Play with your dog. Meditate. Or just stare at the ceiling in silence for 15 minutes.
This isn’t burying your head in the pow. It’s regaining your balance, harnessing your creativity and feeling somewhat sane. It’s choosing how you take on the day, rather than the day taking you down, even before your cup of joe.
We need to make space for joy. To celebrate every day like it’s our birthday even when the world is on fire.
So let’s ski in the rain. Drink flat champagne. And claim the mountain for ourselves. Not because we’re ignoring the flames, but because we refuse to let them consume us. Then, when it’s time to fight, we’ll fight harder and stronger — not just to put out the flames, but to build a bonfire of our own.
And sometimes, the universe delivers the message you need just when you need it.
On the morning of my birthday, my friend Mary sent me a birthday text with a meme she selected just for me. It was a picture of the actor Ben Stiller from the movie “Dodgeball” in the classic “I know you, you know you” scene.
The headline read, “POV your bestie is an Aquarius and they promised you they won’t randomly drop an existential question in the middle of a lighthearted conversation again.”
I took it as a sign. I set down my phone and stepped outside to celebrate the day.