The Older You Get, The Better You Get...Unless You're a Banana
Lately, I feel like a Roomba stuck in the corner of a room—still powered on, still moving, still trying—but mostly just bouncing off the same walls, making a little progress but not really getting anywhere.
Look, it’s me!
Every time I’ve brought this up lately, people respond with something like, “OMG, yes! That is exactly how I feel.” Everyone just seems… blah. I don’t know a better word for it. Maybe once Uranus realigns with Jupiter, we’ll all start feeling normal again.
Anyway—today is my birthday.
Charlie has asked me at least 25 times what I wanted to do, and I’ve struggled at least 40 times to come up with an answer. The last time I wasn’t working was January 1st and 2nd, and that was only because I had Norovirus. So, you know, a real party.
I’m in a weird place where I feel like I can’t allow myself to have fun because there’s just so much work to do. I’m usually not one to deprive myself of joy, but I’ve been stuck in this mode for so long that:
I’m exhausted, so the only thing I want to do when I’m not working is zone out and watch TV, and
I think I’ve forgotten how to have fun.
Yesterday, I finally decided what I wanted to do. First off, my body hurts, so I figured a massage might help. I’ve been paying for one a month and have five unused credits. So I booked us a couples massage. Doing something for myself? Check. Fun? Debatable.
Then I decided I wanted to go to the Hot Tub & Sauna Expo AND the Home Build and Remodel Show at the WNC Ag Center—because clearly, I’m about to turn 65. (In reality, I’m turning 47.) And look out, the real fun is gonna happen when I go get dirt for the garden.
There’s all this talk about your “true biological age,” but honestly, my body is a patchwork of different decades. Psychically? Probably 40. My joints? A strong 55. My sense of humor is a solid 12 (fart jokes will forever be funny), and my spirit? About 68. The things that bring me joy—filling pill organizers, watching Good Morning America every morning and The Golden Girls every night, going to home expos—basically confirm that despite every warning from those Progressive Insurance commercials, I have become my parents.
My Golden Girls Cross Stitch
Speaking of parents, I drove to Tennessee yesterday to see mine. Highway 81 is technically open again—but not fully. I still had to detour around the sections that remain closed. That reroute took me along the river, and at one point, I saw a stretch of land that looked like it had been ripped from the earth by the gods. It was absolutely surreal. I didn’t snap a photo—driving solo—but I will next time. It’s wild to still be seeing the effects of the storm for the first time, six months later.
This week marks six months since Hurricane Helene hit—and I don’t think any of us anticipated how deeply it would still be affecting our day-to-day lives. What’s even more difficult to process is that, instead of being supported in recovery, our community has been hindered by federal funding cuts.
Farmers across Western North Carolina were hit hard by the storm—and now they’re being hit again. Critical federal programs that supported farm-to-school initiatives and local food systems have been slashed. Organizations like MANNA FoodBank, which serves 16 counties and sources food from over 66 farms within a 400-mile radius, are facing serious challenges. And so are the schools that relied on those partnerships to feed kids fresh, healthy meals.
I’ve felt the ripple effects of all this while trying to produce this year’s Connect Beyond Festival. We had originally planned a major program featuring David Byrne—a conversation with local leaders about recovery and resilience, anchored by his Reasons to Be Cheerful platform. His editorial team was set to publish a series on Western North Carolina before and after the festival—shining a much-needed spotlight on the people and the work happening here.
We spent months in planning and negotiation. He was the anchor. But due to factors beyond my control, we lost the funding—and we lost him. I scrambled to write emergency grants and find alternate support. It was a gut punch. And there were other challenges too, ones I’m honestly too drained to go into right now.
There’s a helplessness that comes with navigating recovery, especially when it feels like you’re doing it with one hand tied behind your back.
And yet—despite all of this—I’m still building a weekend that’s rooted in joy, creativity, and community. That’s what I need right now, and I suspect I’m not alone. So that’s what I’m creating with Connect Beyond: a space to gather, to make meaning, and to move forward—together.
One of the pieces I'm most excited about is an interactive art piece with the Paddling The Same Canoe exhibition. We've hired 5 artists that have been collaborating with one another to create an interactive art piece which connects into a larger piece and can be changed by festival attendees. The piece symbolizes how art can bridge divides and foster unexpected connections.
I wanted to curate this project for a couple of reasons. One reason is that our artistic community was hit particularly hard by Helene. Also, it feels like we are all navigating an incredibly trying time right now. In moments like these, creativity is more than just an outlet—it’s a way to process, heal, and connect. I want to create space for everyone to express themselves, whether or not they consider themselves an artist. No experience is needed—just a willingness to engage.
There are many other amazing workshops, films, and panels I’m excited about—but I’ll save those for another post. You can check out the full lineup here.
For now, I’m off to celebrate all the versions of myself—from the 12-year-old who still laughs at fart jokes to the 75-year-old who finds joy in pill organizers and home expos.