When I first started thinking about my 40th birthday, I had one very clear thought: I don’t want to do this.
Not because I wasn’t grateful to be alive. Believe me, I am. But with both of my parents gone too soon, in their 50s, turning 40 feels complicated. It feels like grief and gratitude and a mild identity crisis wrapped in collagen peptides with extra protein on the side.
And then my Instagram algorithm came for me.
Suddenly, my feed was a never-ending scroll of before-and-afters, wellness hacks, and thirty-day transformations. Take these two pills and your hair will grow back thicker than it ever was in college. One glass of celery juice a day and your brain fog will disappear, along with your crow’s feet. Track your protein. Count your steps. Carry a water jug that looks like a weapon. Cottage cheese can be blended into anything. Also, love yourself as you are, but definitely get this jaw-tightening device. The messaging was… a lot.
At the same time, I started noticing the lines on my face more. The tiredness I couldn’t quite sleep off. The pressure to fix, preserve, reverse. I was trying to show up for myself, my husband, my kids, and still hold it all together. And now I had to throw a picture-perfect party about it?
As someone who plans events for a living, the idea of organizing my own birthday celebration felt exhausting. I had visions of an 80s dance party with neon jumpsuits. Then I considered just going to the spa and hiding from everyone.
I thought about doing nothing. I thought about doing everything. I spiraled somewhere in between. I had told my husband I loved surprises. Where I had zero to do with the planning. A few weeks after I told him that, he told me hold the weekend of May 12th. I was gitty honestly. Had zero clue where we were going until American Airlines sent me our flight itinerary to Palm Springs, CA. I crept into Shaun’s office when I got it “Umm…I think I just got an email I wasn’t supposed to get.” Whoops! Well at least I didn’t know what we were doing when we got there. It was truly the best weekend ever, a beautiful dinner blowing out my first birthday candle, with just Shaun over the most delicious steak and afterwards he said we were going to a casino. I had zero kids with me, I could care less what we were doing though a casino choice was curious. We walked in, down the musty aisle of slots and tables and stopped at a theater. “ok, we’re going to see a show!” And it was my favorite artist- Jason Mraz! Who only has two concerts this year and this was one of them. Magic magic magic. We then went to LA the next day, on the way stopped by outlets – my fav, and had dinner with one of my best friends.
So I got the bug, ok… I can celebrate this milestone and I want to celebrate with all my friends and family too! I stopped trying to do what I thought I was supposed to do and simply asked myself what I wanted. That’s when the idea of a tea party came to me. Inspired by my mom’s 40th, which I vividly remember attending as a little girl, I decided to host a “Jamie in Wonderland” tea party. Whimsical, playful, warm — a little bit magic, and a lot me. What is it about small bites and tea that just screams happy?
It wasn’t about posting. It wasn’t for Pinterest. It was about being surrounded by the women I love. If you know me, you know I live for community. Creating a space where they felt seen, celebrated, and cherished was my version of joy.
The party itself was everything I didn’t know I needed. There were beautiful high tea treats from Maman (Thank you Elisa!), The Born Method by Ipek Gray, which uses your birth date to help you better understand who you are and your path added the perfect insightful element to the day.
There was a flower bar, a mahjong table (of course), and an entire setup for jewelry-making that turned every guest into their most creative, five-year-old selves. And then, in the most full-circle moment, my daughter helped me open presents just like I had done with my mom on her 40th.
It was never about the decorations, though they were beyond adorable and yes, I got very carried away. It wasn’t about the photos, though yes, I am absolutely posting them. It was about the feeling. The joy of being here, alive, and surrounded by love.
A month later, I visited my son Zach at sleepaway camp, which felt like its own kind of celebration. Watching him thrive, hugging him in his summer home, filled my heart in ways that no party could. We also made a wish on an unlit candle so I could feel like I celebrated with him too.
On my actual birthday (I can’t believe it still hasn’t been my actual birthday yet HA), we’re heading to Sammy’s Roumanian with family, where the chopped liver flows like wine and Dani Luv turns every table into a dance floor. It’s the kind of chaos and joy my thirteen-year-old Bat Mitzvah self lives for.
So yeah, I wasn’t going to do anything.
Then I did everything. YOLO. Anyone I told I wasn’t doing didn’t believe me anyways, they were right.
And while I questioned it, second-guessed myself, and occasionally felt like it was all a little too indulgent, it ended up being perfect. Celebrating in various ways with the people I love.
I’ve been celebrating the joys of well- celebrating, embracing the mess, going with flow and living with less apology. Life is for celebrating, my friends- so if the milestones come- celebrate the hell out of it. Life is short, so WHY NOT?!
I don’t know how long I’ll be here, but I do know this: I’m not skipping milestones. I’m soaking them up with my whole heart, surrounded by friends and family and a whole lot of fun. YOLO, my friends.
