Happy 65th Birthday, Debra.
My very first thought today is gratitude.
I’m still here.
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In 2003–2004, I found myself lying in a hospital bed at Johns Hopkins fighting non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. More than a year of chemotherapy, total body radiation, endless tests, fear, and a painfully slow recovery changed me forever. Before that, I thought I understood what it meant to be sick. I didn’t. That experience stripped life down to its essentials.
One afternoon I was lying in bed watching Oprah. As she often did, she said, “Live your best life.” I remember thinking, If I ever recover enough to walk to the bathroom by myself again…if I ever get to eat real food again…I am going to do exactly that.
At the time, “living my best life” didn’t mean fame, money, or accomplishments.
It meant doing what moved my soul without restriction.
It meant being authentic.
It meant simply being me.
During that season I also discovered The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz. Those simple ideas quietly became a compass for the next twenty-two years. I try to live a B.A.D.D. life…
1. Be impeccable with your word.
Speak honestly and kindly—to others and to yourself. Words have power, so choose them carefully.
2. Always do your best.
Your best changes from day to day, and that’s okay. Give the best you have today, then let it be enough.
3. Don’t make assumptions.
Most misunderstandings happen because we fill in the blanks with stories that aren’t true. Ask questions instead.
4. Don’t take anything personally.
Other people’s opinions, moods, and actions usually say more about them than they do about you. Protect your peace.
I’ve genuinely tried to live by those principles ever since.
Now here we are in 2026
Brooks is independent, successful, and owned his own home before he was thirty. Austin became an M.D. and Ph.D., married Tommy, and they’ve built a wonderful life together in Chicago. And my baby, Cole, is thriving in New York City with Nicole as they build a future together in their home.
Raising three boys was exhausting, chaotic, expensive, hilarious, and one of the greatest adventures of my life.
Gary and I did it.
And we couldn’t be prouder.
Professionally, Zebra Patterns grew into something I never could have imagined. Thousands of patterns, books, teaching, travel, friendships, and becoming known around the world as a quilt designer. What an incredible ride.
But if I’m honest, that isn’t what I’m proudest of.
The greatest work I’ve ever done wasn’t building a business.
It was building myself.
Somewhere along the journey I began asking bigger questions about purpose, creativity, aging, and what it really means to live an authentic life.
And finally…
At sixty-five…
I think I’m beginning to understand.
I don’t want to become someone else anymore.
I simply want to become Debra.
An artist.
A creator.
A curious soul.
Someone who makes beautiful things because she can’t imagine not making them.
It has taken every single day since that hospital room in 2004 to finally feel something I wasn’t even sure existed.
Home.
Not a place.
A feeling.
A quiet sense that I have finally arrived where I was always headed.
The road here wasn’t smooth. There were seasons of depression, uncertainty, self-doubt, fear, illness, and more tears than anyone ever saw.
But today…
Today I wake up excited.
Curious.
Full of anticipation.
It almost feels like graduating from high school all over again—except this time I actually know who I am.
Instead of racing toward the future, I want to walk through it slowly.
I want to notice things.
Create more.
Learn new mediums.
Laugh more.
Travel.
Make art that feels like my soul spilled onto paper.
Encourage people I may never even meet.
I’ve spent decades seeking.
Now I get to explore.
What a gift.
So Happy Birthday, Debra.
Thank you for not giving up.
Thank you for surviving long enough to meet the woman you were becoming.
And if sixty-five is the beginning instead of the ending…
Well…
That might just be the best surprise of all.
With gratitude, excitement, a little gray hair, and absolutely no desire to act my age…
Happy Birthday to me.
Namaste.
The light in me has always been there.
It’s finally beginning to shine outward.
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