Reflections on Moon Bloom, Midlife, and the Art of Becoming Who You Are
Sometimes the biggest lesson isn’t found in the event itself. It’s found in who you discover yourself to be while you’re there.
Sitting With Feelings That Don’t Fit Into One Word
As I write this on the Monday morning after Moon Bloom, I find myself feeling something I can’t quite name. Gratitude. Sadness. Disappointment. Pride. Somehow they’re all present at once. Even those words don’t fully capture what’s moving through my body, but it feels important to put something on the page. Writing has always helped me understand what I couldn’t explain in the moment.
So I’ll begin with disappointment.
When Reality Doesn’t Match Expectations
On Friday afternoon, we packed the van and headed toward the festival. Traffic was exactly as miserable as expected. Then, just before we arrived, I received a text from a friend—someone I deeply admire and one of the reasons I wanted to participate in Moon Bloom in the first place. She was leaving the festival completely.
Reading between the lines, it seemed clear that something significant had happened behind the scenes. I don’t know what it was, and I have no interest in starting rumors. Whatever unfolded wasn’t mine to know. Still, after months of planning, it felt like a punch to the gut.
The festival itself offered beautiful moments—real moments—but there were also times that felt surprisingly chaotic. Organizing an event like this is no small feat, and I genuinely respect everyone willing to take that on. At the same time, I found myself wondering when flakiness became something we’re simply expected to accept.
I’m someone who keeps commitments. I arrive early. I follow through. So when others don’t hold themselves to the same standard, I notice. Not because I expect perfection, but because I value integrity.
Maybe I’ve Changed More Than Festivals Have
The sadness was harder to understand because it arrived quietly. For a moment, I wondered if I’d somehow aged out of this scene. Forty-nine wise and wonderful years have taught me that not everything is designed with me in mind anymore, and that’s okay. I have absolutely no intention of stopping. This isn’t about worrying what anyone else thinks. Those days are long behind me.
We certainly weren’t the only older people there. The sadness came from somewhere else. The atmosphere felt performative. Not everyone. Not every moment. Just enough that I noticed.
I found myself incredibly grateful that almost none of my festival experiences from the ’90s exist on the internet. Back then, we showed up to be there. Now it often feels like people show up to prove they were there.
I understand why. As a business owner, I wrestle with social media every single day. I know visibility matters. But I also know that I never want documenting my life to become more important than actually living it.
Somewhere Between Reflection and Complaining
That’s enough…ref-plaining. Yes, I made that word up. It’s what happens somewhere between reflecting and complaining. And I think there’s an important difference. Reflection invites awareness. Complaining simply wants agreement. I’m interested in the first one.
Alongside all of that sits an enormous amount of pride. I’m proud that I’ve still got it as a festival-goer. Turns out I still know how to dance my ass off. I’m proud that my name appeared on the website as one of the Wisdom Weavers. That sentence alone feels surreal.
I’m proud of what I’ve built. I’m not a mega influencer, and I don’t particularly want to be. I’m awkward as fuck, and on paper I’m probably not all that cool. But back in 2022, I made a decision. Enough was enough. I chose to change my life. Every step since then has simply been honoring that decision.
The People Who Say Yes
More than anything, I walked away feeling grateful.
When you’re just beginning, nobody has a reason to take a chance on you. That’s why relationships matter so much more than algorithms ever will. Behind every opportunity is another human being willing to trust you.
Despite whatever challenges unfolded behind the scenes, the organizers trusted me enough to invite me into this space, and that means something.
My workshop was scheduled for 8:30 on Saturday morning. Probably not prime festival hours. Honestly? It was perfect. The quiet morning felt exactly right for the conversation we were having.
Two people came.
By most social media standards, that would probably be considered a failure.
It didn’t feel that way.
It felt deeply meaningful.
I had the opportunity to share perspectives that have changed my own life. More importantly, I learned from them. Every person I coach, every workshop participant, every meaningful conversation leaves me knowing something I didn’t know before. That’s the exchange I’m here for.
Maybe This Is What Growing Older Actually Means
Festivals have changed. Of course they have. Many younger attendees have little connection to the festivals that shaped my understanding of community. Woodstock came before me. My generation had Lemonwheel, Big Cypress, and countless weekends that taught us how to lose ourselves in music, friendship, and muddy fields.
But maybe the bigger truth is this.
I’ve changed too.
The average forty-nine-year-old probably isn’t spending the weekend camping on a farm without showers or indoor plumbing just to dance, learn, and gather in community.
I’m also not the average forty-nine-year-old.
I’m simply this version of me.
The one who exists now.
I have nothing to prove, and I don’t have to stay for the late-night set if I’m tired. I can wander away from the noise when my nervous system needs quiet. This means I can experience festivals in a way that actually honors who I am today instead of trying to relive who I was twenty-five years ago.
The Freedom to Flow
I still love getting my feet dirty.
I still love dancing.
Thirdly, I still love people watching.
And I still love sharing all of it with my beloved by my side.
We’ve been doing this together since 1998, and I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
Maybe that’s the greatest lesson Moon Bloom offered me. Not to cling to the way things used to be. Not to mourn the person I once was. But to keep adapting. To stay flexible. To trust that every season of life has its own rhythm.
And to keep flowing with it.
Watch this short video to dive deeper into Reflections on Moon Bloom.
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