Today, July 11, 2026 I begin my summer holidays. It also happens to be my birthday. My fifty-ninth birthday, to be precise. Or perhaps not.
According to Feng Shui traditions, birthdays ending in nine are best skipped altogether. The ninth year is considered a transitional year, a threshold between one chapter and the next. Depending on who you ask, I should either celebrate being fifty-eight for a second year or simply declare myself sixty and get on with it. I am not entirely convinced by either option. After all, I have already been fifty-eight, and sixty feels like it should at least have the courtesy to wait its turn.
Rather than celebrating a number, I find myself reflecting on something else entirely: thresholds and milestones. As children, milestones are easy to measure. First steps. First words. First day of school. First job. First love. First heartbreak. As we grow older, the milestones become less visible. They are no longer marked by certificates, birthdays, or promotions. Instead, they are marked by moments. The conversation that changed our perspective. The loss that taught us resilience. The mentor who saw something in us before we saw it ourselves. The friend who arrived exactly when we needed them.
When I look back over nearly six decades, I find myself less interested in counting years and more interested in counting blessings. The people who taught me courage. The people who taught me kindness. The people who taught me what not to do. The people who stood beside me during storms. The people who quietly cheered from the sidelines. Each one left an imprint. Each one became part of the story.
One of the most influential people in my life was my mother, Linda, whose 10th death anniversary I will honour next month. In my forthcoming book, Lessons from Mommy, I share many of the stories and life lessons she passed down to me. One of my favourites is a chapter called The Coconut Warrior. It remains one of the clearest examples of how courage is often less about strength and more about determination.
As the eldest child of eight, my mother was saddled with responsibilities from an early age. Her chores included caring for younger siblings and running errands around the village. She particularly enjoyed trips to the market because they offered a rare opportunity to escape household duties and spend a little time on her own.
Even in small island communities, rivalries and bullies exist. On one trip home from the market, carrying several coconuts, she took what she thought would be a shortcut. Instead, she found herself surrounded by a group of boys who began taunting her. Their insults quickly escalated into physical intimidation. They pinned her down, tore her dress, and left her bruised and in tears. Somehow, she still managed to hold on to the coconuts.
When she burst through the front door crying, her father, the district judge, took one look at her and asked a simple question: “Did you hit them back?” When she shook her head, he pointed towards the door and replied, “Go back and give them what they deserve. Don’t come home unless you can prove you fought back. Only then have you earned the right to cry.”
My mother considered the obvious disadvantages. She was smaller, younger, and outnumbered. Then her eyes fell upon the coconuts. Taking one in each hand, she marched back to where the boys were still laughing about what had happened. They never saw it coming. The coconuts became equalizers, and before the boys could react, the little warrior had launched her one-girl ambush. Once her mission was accomplished, she dropped the coconuts and ran home as fast as her legs would carry her.
Naturally, the boys followed, eager for revenge. They stopped abruptly when they reached her home and discovered the district judge standing quietly at the door. He calmly escorted them back to their homes and exchanged a few memorable words with their parents.
The lesson was never about fighting. It was about courage. It was about refusing to surrender your power. It was about understanding that size is not what makes a warrior formidable. Determination, resourcefulness, and the willingness to stand your ground are often far more powerful weapons. From that day forward, my mother knew her father would always have her back. He taught her about justice, fairness, and the importance of never surrendering without a good fight.
That lesson travelled far beyond that small island village. My mother carried it throughout her life, and through her, it found its way to me. Whenever I have faced adversity, uncertainty, or setbacks, I have often thought about the Coconut Warrior. Not because life requires us to fight every battle, but because it reminds us that we are often stronger and more resourceful than we imagine.
Perhaps that is why this birthday feels less like a celebration of age and more like a moment of gratitude. Birthdays invite us to look backward as much as forward. They remind us that none of us arrive at these milestones alone. We are shaped by the lessons we inherit, the values we absorb, the kindness we receive, and the examples set by those who came before us.
As I stand on this curious threshold between fifty-eight and sixty, whether Feng Shui approves or not, I realize that birthdays are not really about age. They are about inheritance. Not financial inheritance, but human inheritance. The courage we borrow from those who came before us. The wisdom gathered through mistakes and triumphs. The friendships that sustain us. The mentors who guide us. The unexpected companions who appear at precisely the right moment in our journey.
If there is anything worth celebrating this year, it is that. Not fifty-nine years, but fifty-nine years of lessons. Fifty-nine years of extraordinary people. Fifty-nine years of stories. As I begin another trip around the sun and settle into the first day of my summer holidays, my heart is full of gratitude for the teachers, friends, family members, mentors, and fellow travellers who have enriched my life in ways both large and small.
Whatever age I am supposed to be this year, I know one thing with certainty: the journey has been worth it.
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