I’m noticing that as I get older—

(and notice I said older, not old, thank you very much)—

I’m slowly but surely losing my filter.

And honestly?

I highly recommend it.

There are plenty of negatives to aging.

The aches.
The stiffness.
The mysterious loss of flexibility in places I swear used to bend.

But this part?

This part trumps all of that.

I think back to my twenties, thirties, and if I’m being honest, even my forties—when I bit my tongue constantly. When I cared deeply (too deeply) about what other people thought. When a sideways comment or mild criticism could live rent-free in my head for days.

That’s the real shift, I think.

Not giving other people that kind of power.

Because when you’re younger, it’s so easy to hand it over—to let someone else’s opinion dictate your mood, your confidence, your sense of worth.

And now?

I really don’t care.

Not in a rude way.
Not in an unkind way.
Just in a this-doesn’t-get-to-own-me way.

And it is incredibly freeing.

I wish I could download this wisdom directly into my kids’ brains. I try. They intellectually understand what I’m saying. But emotionally?

They’re not there yet.

And I get it.

You kind of have to live through the worry, the overthinking, the people-pleasing, and the second-guessing before you finally arrive at the point where the small stuff just doesn’t matter anymore.

Which brings me to the farm (because of course it does).

Winter on a flower farm is the season when the fields lose their filters, too.

There’s no performing.
No blooming on command.
No trying to impress anyone.

The plants pull their energy inward. They do only what’s necessary. They ignore everything that doesn’t matter until it’s time.

And honestly?

Goals.

So this winter at our Cape May flower farm, I’m taking notes from the fields. Doing the work that matters. Letting the rest slide. Caring a whole lot less about outside noise.

And here’s your gentle weekday assignment:

Practice not biting your tongue.

Say the thing (kindly, of course).
Set the boundary.
Let the comment roll right past you.
Leave the opinion where it belongs—with the person who had it.

No over-explaining.
No replaying it later while folding laundry.
No handing your peace over for free.

The fields will still be there.
So will the work.

Let’s practice losing the filter just a little—and see how it feels.