The kids are heading back to school. The air is starting to shift — that first almost-imperceptible hint that summer is releasing its grip and fall is quietly moving in. The trees aren't turning yet, but they will be soon. And I'm feeling twitchy again.

Not restless-leg twitchy. Not pent-up-energy twitchy. Something different. Something deeper.

It feels like what I imagine a snake feels when it's ready to shed its skin. Or maybe — more poetically — like a butterfly beginning to push through its cocoon. That particular kind of discomfort that signals something is getting ready to change.

Maybe the season is trying to tell me something. Maybe we're all shedding something right now.

It's my birthday week. And for the first time in a long time, I'm stepping into it slowly — not rushing past it, not minimizing it, not deflecting with humor when someone asks how I feel about another year passing.

I'm sitting with it. And what I find when I do is something that genuinely surprises me: gratitude. Deep, unhurried, unperformative gratitude.

So let me tell you where I am.