Turning 60: a Threshold into Devotion

Liz, and Bob the Sage

As I step into my sixtieth year, I feel less interested in reinvention and more devoted to remembering.

There is a quiet confidence that comes with this age—not because life has become simpler, but because the noise has lost some of its authority. I am less compelled to prove, to strive, to contort myself into shapes that were never mine. What matters now is what has always mattered, but perhaps took me decades to trust.

This year—2026—I am dedicating to devotion.

Not devotion as sacrifice or self-denial. Not devotion as obligation or duty.

But devotion as presence. As reverence. As a steady return to what is true.

The other day, I said something to a client that surprised me in its simplicity:

“One thing I ask myself is: can I trust that I am safe?”

Not comfortable. Not certain. Not in control.

Safe.

So many of us are living in a low-grade state of dysregulation—our nervous systems braced, our breath shallow, our attention pulled outward in search of reassurance. We act from scarcity, from doubt, from fear, from the quiet belief that something is about to go wrong or be taken away.

We have been trained—individually, culturally, ancestrally—to look outside ourselves for safety:

• In money

• In productivity

• In approval

• In certainty

• In other people’s expectations

  
  

And while those things may offer temporary relief, they can never provide the kind of safety that truly settles the body and frees the soul.

Safety is not external

What I have come to believe—deeply, in my bones—is that safety does not come from outside of us. It comes from connection; from a deep remembering of our connection to Source, to life itself, to something larger and wiser than our momentary fear. When we are present—truly present—we discover a still strength that says:

I am here.

And when I am here:

• I have both feet on the ground

• I am aware of my surroundings

• I can feel my breath

• I can sense my body

• I can choose my response

Presence brings agency. Agency restores dignity. And dignity is the doorway to safety.

Remembering our agency

Many of us were taught—explicitly or unconsciously—that we are small, that we must adapt, that we must not take up too much space. These beliefs live not only in our minds, but in our nervous systems and ancestral memory.

And yet…

When we remember that we do have agency—sometimes despite what we were taught—we begin to return to a sense of self that evolves but never loses its core.

A self that knows:

• I am safe

• I am here

• I deserve to be here

• I am as important as any other being in the universe—no more, no less

This is not ego. This is truth. And only when we are rooted in this foundation can devotion arise naturally.

From foundation to devotion

Devotion is not something we force.

It emerges when safety is embodied.

For me, turning 60 is not about denying age or clinging to youth. It is about trusting—no matter what is happening—that I am safe in myself.

And from that trust, devotion flows:

• Devotion to presence

• Devotion to listening

• Devotion to loving my very human self and those around me

• Devotion to caretaking this body as the sacred vessel it is

This gift of a body is a temporary, miraculous, sensory-rich way of experiencing life.

Devotion to the sacred ordinary

Devotion lives in moments we could easily overlook.

• A javelina appearing silently at the community water trough at midnight.

• Leo the horse nickering softly as his morning grain is poured.

• The low, reassuring hoot of an owl echoing down the canyon at dawn.

• The melancholy, adventurous call of a westward-bound train horn in the distance.

• The sharp, spicy scent of creosote after a desert rain.

These moments invite stillness.

They ask us to engage all our senses and remember our belonging.

To know—viscerally—how lucky we are to be here at all.

And to sense that there is so much we cannot see or name… yet when we pause in gratitude, something opens. Something fills.

A year of devotion

In those moments of stillness and wonder, devotion becomes effortless.

Devotion to:

• The sacredness of the everyday

• The intelligence of the body

• The quiet guidance of the higher self

• Love as a guiding force, not a reward

As I enter this next decade, this is my commitment, and my wish for you.

May your 2026 be filled with the knowing that you are safe. That you know you belong and that your presence matters.

May you pause long enough to feel your feet on the earth and your breath in your body. May devotion find you—not as effort, but as remembrance.

And may that remembrance fill your belly and your heart with belonging and wonder.