I decided to be healthy in February the way I decide most things now, casually and without any long-term vision. Not a resolution. Not a lifestyle change. Just a vague intention to do better than whatever January was.
I had just celebrated my birthday a few days earlier, which at this age feels less like a milestone and more like a polite head nod to time. Like, yes, I see you. You’re still moving. I’m still here.
My kids did greet me. Eventually.
Birthdays are complicated now because of time zones. Some of them are a day ahead. Some are a day behind. Some are probably staring at the clock wondering if it’s too late, too early, or safer to pretend they already texted. I never know if a greeting is early, late, or being coordinated in a group chat I’m not invited to. At this point, I choose to believe the delay is due to global time differences and not selective memory. I choose peace. This is also part of being healthy.
For my birthday, I asked my husband if he could ski so we could spend the weekend up in the mountains.
For the record, I do not ski. I’m from the Philippines. We don’t have snow. We have heat, humidity, and sweating for no reason. Asking him to ski is my way of participating in winter culture without risking my life. I enjoy skiing the way I enjoy haunted houses. From a distance. Preferably indoors. With coffee.
In my head, the plan was perfect. I imagined waking up, sipping coffee with a view of Lake Tahoe, feeling inspired to write my next book. Taking breaks to wander through tourist shops. Walking all the way to the lake for the obligatory birthday selfie. Something like “54 and I still got it,” which is a lie I only believe when the lighting is good and my knees are cooperative.
I even planned dinner. Friday’s Station. Lake view. Sunset behind snow-capped mountains. The kind of birthday that sounds effortless when you describe it later.
This was the dream.
Reality arrived immediately and without apology.
We woke up early. I was excited. I usually pack the night before so the morning is just shower, makeup, and go. Except my husband decided this was the perfect time to clean his car. Despite my protests. We were driving to the mountains. The car was going to get dirty again. Immediately.
He never listens.
So there he was, cleaning the car on our driveway, which is not flat. At all. I already knew what was coming. Wet towels. Sitting in the laundry room. Waiting for me. But the real highlight was when he pulled his back while drying the car.
Perfect.
Now he can’t ski. He’s crooked. And he will be with me every second of this trip. Thank God the drive to Tahoe is peaceful. Highway 50 is still beautiful, even without the winter wonderland we hoped for. Some trees are gone from the fires years ago, which made me sad for about thirty seconds until I remembered nature cleans up too. Makes room. Keeps going.
We checked into the hotel. The VIP host said we had a great view. Girl. Have you ever been to the rooms. Because our view was rooftops and a parking lot. I had to lean dangerously close to the window like I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil just to see a sliver of lake on one side and a hint of mountain on the other. But it was comped, so I smiled like a grateful adult.
Casino time. No luck. We called it early. Back to the room. I massaged his back and applied lidocaine like a woman who has accepted her destiny. We went to sleep.
Birthday dinner was the redemption arc.
Not Friday’s Station. I wanted something new. We went to Gordon Ramsay’s Hell’s Kitchen and it was amazing. Oysters. Scallops. If you ever go, get both. My husband got the beef Wellington because of course he did. I got the crispy skin salmon. I am not a salmon person, but I had tried it before in Reno and it converted me. This version was different. Less Asian-inspired. Very “new year, new me, I am choosing health” energy.
Finding love later in life is different.
We book the first seating. Five p.m. If four is available, even better. We are back in the room by eight. Snoring by eight thirty. Waking up refreshed while other people are still negotiating with the consequences of their casino decisions.
We take morning walks now. Not hikes. Walks. My knees and lungs have made it very clear they are no longer interested in proving anything. The lake is enough.
And then came the moment that sealed my February health plan.
A tourist walked up to us and asked if we could take her picture. No excuse me. No pause. Just phone out. Fine. My husband said yes, because he is kind.
Then she started giving directions.
Vertical. No, more mountain. Step back. Tilt it. Wait. Try again.
Excuse me.
You asked for a favor. You do not get to art-direct the favor.
This is where I am now. I am learning boundaries. I am learning that my space is my space. Your space is your space. And the overlap requires respect. My husband stood there politely following instructions. I gave her the look. The one that says I am not yelling, but I am absolutely done. The one that says I am healthy enough to say no, even if someone thinks I’m rude.
Because being healthy now is not about skiing or hiking or pretending my body is younger than it is. It’s knowing when to stop explaining myself. It’s choosing salmon over beef Wellington and not feeling deprived. It’s walking instead of hiking and still enjoying the view. It’s laughing when the plan falls apart and loving the person next to you even when they pull their back cleaning a car that did not need cleaning.
February health is quieter.
It’s early dinners. Good sleep. Gentle mornings. Saying no without guilt. Loving each other kindly. Letting go of perfect plans.
New year. Same us. Slightly slower. Slightly wiser. Much better at boundaries.
And honestly, that feels healthy enough.
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