Hello (again, if you’re returning!) 👋🏾 I’m Ingrid and I publish Permission. I share words about my world as a woman, in middle age, as a mother of boys, as an Australian living in The Netherlands, and all the nuance (and mess) that goes along with these. To know more you are welcome to check out my About page, and to read more you are welcome to check out Permission.
In December 2023 I met a lovely woman named Michelle. We were in one of those situations where you meet, connect and bond fast. We shared our stories, failures, hopes, dreams – the usual light chit chat. Michelle shared with me about a significant birthday she had recently celebrated with a month-long festival. Being on the cusp of a big birthday (2024 is the year I turned 40), I was struck by this concept.
A month-long birthday festival.
I don’t know about you, but even the word festival is joyful to me. Unlike many of my British friends, the word festival doesn’t conjure Glastonbury or similar associations, as I’ve sadly never been to a music festival <cue gasp>. Nor does it give vibes of pagan-like gatherings in forests with long-haired bare-footed women singing to the moon, though that does sound fun.
I strongly identify with those in the late 14th century who first used the word ‘festival’ in Medieval Latin to describe an “appointed day of festive celebration”[1]. I’m onboard with the festive celebration part, however I may be stretching the original meaning from day to year… More on that soon.
For context, I have always loved birthdays. I love them still. I love the anticipation of them, I love a day of celebrating someone, I love the thoughtfulness of gifts and cards and calls and messages. And it’s not just my birthday – I love everyone’s birthday! I love celebrating people I love, and I love being celebrated. I’ve never dreaded getting older or felt birthdays marked the passing of my youth. Birthdays have always been occasions of simple (or perhaps this year, not so simple) joys.
Unfortunately it sometimes feels like there’s not enough time to plan and celebrate birthdays in the same way we used to. Or it could be that I was lucky as a child to have birthdays be made a fuss over, and now, as the grown up, I’m realising how much time and effort went into that fussing and how many things need to get done in order for a birthday to feel fussed-over. Either way, the idea of a festival – a big chunk of time dedicated to celebrating a special someone and their special birthday – felt absolutely luxurious. And what better way to feel on my 40th birthday than celebrated and luxurious?
Me being me, there were a few issues to iron out:
1. I don’t love being the centre of attention, even for my birthday, so the notion of many events having me as the focal point was terrifying. How else could this festival look?
2. September is my birthday month, and in the year of my 40th birthday, by September we would have newly arrived in The Netherlands, where I knew nobody. Well, that’s a lie. I knew of people. But I don’t think knowing of someone is close enough a relationship to justify an invite to a Festival of 40 celebration. How awkward for us both! So how could I celebrate this Festival with the people I loved when they were nowhere around?
3. Also, I would have just moved to The Netherlands. Do they even do festivals there?
4. From a purely practical perspective, I didn’t have the time, energy or funds to devote to planning a Festival in a foreign country whilst simultaneously trying to pack up my life in Sydney, travel around Asia for two months, and then relocate to The Netherlands with one husband, two children and six suitcases.
But I was glued to this idea, so I chucked a Frankie and did it my way. I committed to a Festival of 40 in the form of a year of yes – essentially saying yes to things that I wouldn’t usually say yes to. I couldn’t say yes to everything, see above regarding the overseas move, one husband and two children, etc. But I could say yes to a whole range of exceptional moments:
experiencing new adventures and making memories with my family and friends at beautiful wineries in the Hunter Valley, snorkelling the Great Barrier Reef in Port Douglas, walking through hundreds of orange gates at the awe-inspiring Fushimi Inari Shrine in Kyoto, eating all the dumplings in Taipei, swimming through blue lagoons in Laos, falling in love with every single thing about Vietnam, endless beach days in Mykonos, discovering local Belgian chocolatiers in Antwerp, losing my breath at the beauty of the Cliffs of Moher, restaurants and musicals and belly laughs in London, and drinking my first mulled cider of the season at Cologne’s Christmas Market;
connecting deeply with amazing women in my life through a late-Summer beach trip to Callala Bay with women I’ve known and loved since we were 13-year-old schoolgirls, an island getaway to Bintan with my multi-decade bestie, a long weekend in Singapore followed by a week in Austin with my much-loved soul traveller, London visits with the women who made London my heart home, an indulgent weekend at an adults-only resort in Majorca with a forever friend, and sneaky spa days in Bucharest with ladies who have known and loved me through a decade-worth of changes;
I attended two events that I wouldn’t have usually attended. The first was Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour concert – historically not being much of a Swiftie, I was a true convert after the concert. The kindness and sense of community shared by the other concert-goers warmed my heart and moved me far beyond the (excellent!) music;
the second event was South by Southwest (nicknamed “SxSW”) in its original home of Austin, Texas. In a bland nutshell, SxSW is a conference-slash-music-festival-slash-film-festival. In reality, it’s a gathering of people and collection of events that blew my mind wide open and changed my perspective on things I thought I knew.
The above is undeniably a highlight reel of the year, a best of. There were so many more micro moments of joy, of adventure, of love that aren’t described here. And there was also much hardship. Packing up a beautiful and happy life in one of the best cities in the world can be painful, lonely and guilt-ridden. Moving to a foreign country with young children can be discombobulating, overwhelming, and also guilt-ridden. Being without a stable home for almost six months can be anxiety-inducing, stressful and again, guilt-ridden. On a side note, almost everything about this year has been guilt-ridden on multiple levels, as mum-guilt seems to follow almost all of my choices and climate guilt weighs heavily for many of the travel choices, but those are conversations I’m still grappling with, and perhaps for another day.
And let’s not forget grief. Oh no, there’s no forgetting grief. Of course, she came along for the Festival and even headlined on my actual birthday. I write about that in detail over here.
Regardless of the ups and downs, and beyond a year of yes, this was a year of choice. A year when I didn’t put my wants and needs last - as has been my default for most of my life - and nothing fell apart as a result. A year when I moved through life without necessarily doing the easiest or most comfortable thing. A year when my life altered in almost every conceivable way, and not just by circumstance but because I actively chose it.
As someone previously allergic to change, I have to be a little proud of myself for all the changing I’ve done, all the changing I’m doing, and all the resulting mental upheaval I have held space for.
I’m not sure if it’s because of my Festival of 40, or simply turning 40, but the very best thing about this year has been this – writing. Not to please anyone (though of course I’m so honoured if you’re enjoying reading!) and not to achieve any particular outcome. Not to gain traction on a social media network and not to be rewarded with dopamine hits of likes or follows. Not to wear the title of a writer. No, I simply write to know – myself, the world, other people’s worlds. Giving myself permission to write is the best birthday present I have ever received, and it is undoubtedly the gift that keeps giving. Through writing, I know my 40-year-old self better than I have known any of my selves before, and for the first time, I think I love who I see.
[1] Merriam-Webster, Inc (2024, December) Festival Definition & Meaning – Merriam-Webster, https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/festival
Well isn’t this just a(nother) gorgeous piece from a gorgeous woman celebrating life and friendship and best of all, herself! 🥰
(And extra well done cos discombobulating is the only accurate way to describe relocating with kids!! 🤪😅)
Inject this joyous expression of words straight into my veins. Love love love. And happy birthday 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷