50 Years, 17 Years, and a February That Finally Got Interesting

I used to think February was the Monday of the year. A cold, grey, soul-sucking void standing between the post-Christmas coma and the first hopeful days of March. Even my birthday—smack in the middle of this winter wasteland—couldn’t make me love it.

But then, 17 years ago, something happened that changed everything. On the evening before my own birthday, my daughter was born. And just like that, February went from a throwaway month to the month that gave me the best birthday present of all time. No offense to those socks and “World’s Best Dad” mugs, but yeah, they don’t really compete.

This year, we hit two major milestones: she turned 17, I hit the big 5-0. And to make it even better? We got matching tattoos. That’s right. Inked. Together. If you told me 20 years ago that I’d be getting tattoos with my teenage daughter, I would have laughed and assumed I had a midlife crisis. But here we are, and honestly, it’s pretty damn cool. (More about the tattoos in a later post. Gotta keep some suspense, right?)

February Finally Stepped Up

As if celebrating our birthdays wasn’t enough, something else crazy happened: I actually noticed February wasn’t all bad.

We saw geese making their way back home, their classic V-formation (although i was only able to photograph them while just being in a straight line) reminding me that nature has its own GPS—one that never needs recalibration. We spotted the first hesitant signs of green, like nature’s way of whispering, Hang in there, we’re almost out of the dark. And then there were the swallows, zipping through the sky like they had a deadline to meet.

And just like that, I realized something: February might not be the bleak wasteland I always thought it was. Maybe, just maybe, it’s the month where things start shifting. Where the light at the end of the winter tunnel becomes just a little brighter. Where birthdays remind you that aging isn’t about getting older, but about collecting more experiences, more stories, and apparently, more tattoos.

So here’s to February, a month I finally respect. To my daughter, who makes getting older feel like a privilege. And to the geese, for reminding me that sometimes, the best way forward is just to keep flying.

Stay tuned for the tattoo story—because trust me, it’s a good one.