A decade ago, when I hit 60, I began to see that birthday gifts were overrated, that what I needed were shared experiences. As my 70th approached, I felt motivated to do something meaningful. Something personal. I asked myself, what can I do to fill my memory bank? Swim 70 laps? Make 70 charity donations? String a necklace with 70 heirloom beads? More than anything, I wanted to spend cherished time with loved ones. And I was not alone. According to research, people derive more happiness from experiences. Spending quality time with friends and family fosters satisfaction and enduring memories become embedded in the brain.

My objective was to do something that would sidestep the fret of sorting out a guest list as well as the fuss of planning and hosting a party during the holidays, a particular chore for me, given that I was born the day after Christmas. A list maker, I landed a plan. I would log 70 experiences during the year with the people I love. Their job: to propose. My job: to say yes.

On January 4, 2023, I composed the following email:

Dear person I love,

Having just rolled past 69, I am thinking about the large number looming on the horizon.

To honor that large number, I want to log in 70 experiences in 2023 with people I love. My goal is to say yes to whatever you might propose, no matter how big or small. Anything from a cup of coffee to a trip to a national park; from a walk in the woods to a Broadway show; from a manicure to a dance party.

But please, no thrill-seeking. No roller coasters or bungee jumping. And nothing that involves a shark tank.

I look forward to saying yes to your proposal, to a calendar full of one-of-a-kind events and to fully enjoying memorable moments with you.

With love,

I pressed send, wondering if people would take my request seriously or regard it as yet another big idea, a so-called Meganism. My daughter was the first to respond, Best plan ever! My inbox quickly swelled with offers. Come pick raspberries on my farm. I’ll make you pizza. Let’s go glamping! How about a theater trip to London? We can walk a labyrinth. Let’s sip high tea wearing hats and gloves at a fancy hotel. A special walk along the bay? I’m taking you to a modern dance class.

As responses multiplied, I felt gratitude for my fabulous roster of longtime friends and for the inspired menu being laid out before me. But I wondered, will I have enough pizzazz for six experiences every month? The desire for that many one-on-ones out in the world? What about my writing deadlines, teaching schedule and all my other obligations? And what about the general busyness of the people in my life and the fact that many of them live across the country or even in another country altogether? I decided that if in 2023 I didn’t manifest the full palette of experiences, I could stretch my birthday into 2024, like mouth-watering taffy.

I created a journal to keep track of my ambitious undertaking. As offers came in, I added them to the master list.

Despite distance, full schedules and plain old inertia, I eked out a handful of new experiences each month. Though I did not visit a nudist colony, hang glide, or eat insects — all of which were suggested — I hiked, kayaked, picnicked, rode the ferry and train, drank steaming cups of coffee and chai, dined out, listened to live music, visited museums, danced, attended literary events, confabbed with writing pals, road-tripped to LA, and traveled overseas to stay with friends in Europe.

While in Holland, I ate the biggest and tastiest artichoke at Café Restaurant Amsterdam, gorged on sweet and sour pickles at the Yiddish pickle store that has been there since 1850, braved the largest summer storm the Dutch had seen in 50 years while on a canal boat, toured museums, rode buses and bikes, and shopped in secondhand stores.

While driving the North Coast 500 with my husband in Scotland, I tasted my favorite scotch at the Cardhu distillery, sipped a variety of teas, became a haggis and cranachan connoisseur, hiked, toured gardens and other landmarks, dodged frequent downpours, and survived a horrendous bout of food poisoning. And, everywhere I went, there were bookstores, old and new.

My year was filled to the rim. I carved out intentional time to have fun with friends and family and am grateful to all who indulged me. To my surprise, most of the experiences that rose to the top were within driving distance of my home, did not break the bank, and, most important, with each experience I learned something about myself and made a memory with a loved one.

I embraced the glee of playing tourist in my hometown while riding the hop on, hop off bus through San Francisco’s many and diverse neighborhoods with Stephanie, who has known me since the days of baby teeth. I discovered that a woman my age can up her glow without being garish as I weeded through the overabundance of black and gray in my wardrobe with Lindi. I bartered teenage insecurity for a senior sense of cool during a modern dance class with Jen. I reaffirmed that some things are best left in the past while listening to Pink Martini with my once high school rival, now lifelong pal Karen. I observed, while floating in the healing waters of Calistoga with Quinn, that though we were missing Lolo, our third Musketeer, traditions live on even after friends die.

Having crossed the threshold to 70, I feel full, not in a cake-and-ice-cream way, but filled with memories of a year well spent. My birthday project confirmed for me that artistic inhibition is a state of mind; rivalry over a hot boy ain’t worth it; what matters is the thrill of my own inner experience; and though the eras pass us by, the voices of the past live on. My year of fun helped me see that though I may slow down as I age, neither my dazzle nor my friendships have dimmed. I won’t stop dancing until the floor drops out from under me.

Many people, upon hearing my plan, told me they were going to follow in my footsteps on their next big birthday. Should you decide to do the same, the process is a breeze: 1) count the number of years you’ve been on the planet; 2) compose an email, setting an intention that expands your comfort zone, even if only a wee bit; and 3) send it to your people. I trust they will respond. If you prefer a DIY approach, set your bar to match your milestone and let the fun begin: create a certain number of ethnic meals, learn songs in other languages, recite poems by your favorite poet, or crest never-hiked mountains. Use your birthday to browse through the continuing education catalog of life.

As I recount the events of my milestone birthday and look ahead toward the upcoming year, I wonder-dream what I might do to fill my 71st cup with delight. Surely there are more experiences to curate, more memories to mint. Earlier this week, while watching the sun settle over the swells of the San Francisco Bay, I remembered a treasured life motto, as imparted by a longtime friend: “Find a reason to say yes.” And I did. Seventy times.

Megan Vered, a native of Berkeley, California, has been writing for most of her 70 years. Her essays and interviews have appeared in Shondaland, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Los Angeles Review of Books, and the Writer’s Chronicle. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts. Megan serves on the board of Heyday Books and leads local and international writing workshops. If you tell her a joke she will always laugh. For her 71st birthday, she hopes to dance with Taylor Swift, Please visit her at www.meganvered.com.

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