Dayum I Made It to 60, What a Ride!

The Loves of My Life, Still Riding Shotgun

I woke up this morning and thought, dayyyyyum, I did it.

Sixty. As of today, December 11, 2025. I am 60. I opened my eyes in my tiny Condesa apartment, sunlight crawling across the floor, doggie snuggled at my feet, the sound of sidewalks being swept out below. Somewhere between the kettle boiling and Rosie stretching, it hit me that this is exactly what I wanted. I dreamt it, planned it, maneuvered for it. It was not magically dropped in my lap, nor was it brute-force will. I made a plan and kept aligning myself with it, and along the way people and places helped me get here.

I had very specific goals for this year, knowing I would turn 60 at year’s end and that hitting these markers would prime the pump for what may come next.

Live in Paris for a month. Ride a bike across Paris and San Francisco. Hold classes in the San Francisco Ferry Building. Move back to Mexico City before I turned sixty. Keep my drawing practice alive. Keep my expressive art community sustained. Stay awake to the times without letting them crush me. Learn AI. No five-point master plan, just a loud, clear ‘hell yeah, I gotta do this’.

A year ago I drew myself doing these things in my sketchbook: draw it and it will come.

So here I am, deep in the heart of Condesa, windows perched over the street so I can watch and hear the chaos below. There’s a one-man band under my window, playing trombone and drums as people hustle by. Rosie’s still not used to all the bells, whistles and sounds bellowing from below.

Paris in my later years was exhilarating, but not for the same canned romanticized reasons it was cool in the 90s. It was cool because I got in tune with the vibes, the vibes that were vibing with my vibes. Piecing the city together on a bike felt like riding through a living puzzle. Swooshing down the streets with hordes of Parisians heading to work, I felt plugged into the city in a way you don’t get from the Metro. For that sense of connection to Paris and the world, I remain forever grateful, and grateful that at this age I can still whiz through the streets with the best of them.

Before Paris, I had the great good fortune of collaborating with the San Francisco Ferry Building to host my drawing classes in that historic hall. That partnership started because I once taught there without asking permission, and when confronted, they asked me to contact them the next time I wanted to teach. So I did, and so it was.

I’m super proud to have hosted several classes in the heart of San Francisco, and how could I forget that bombastically cool Sketchwalk Chinatown adventure with Chinatown Foodie David Kwok. Of course I hope to return someday, because that city’s in my heart and in my sketchbook. Thanks to the glorious e-bike, I’ve also cut across that gut-wrenchingly beautiful city many times and feel more connected to it now than when I lived there in the 90s.

Bike riding has been a big part of my life since the training wheels came off, and I remember that day well. Today Rosie went for her first real bike ride with me in the streets of Mexico City. I was able to do my errands while giving my very athletic young dog a proper sprint. When we got home and climbed four flights of stairs to our nest, she collapsed into a deep sleep while the one-man band down below belted out Jingle Bells.

We are living through a strangely barbaric and collapsing timeline. The news is relentless, the political theater is grotesque, and the economy feels like quicksand. I’m scared about the future, I mean what the heck’s going on? But I’m also deeply at peace with where I am on the day I turn 60. I am certain that my work is important and that I provide a valuable creative outlet for a solid community of artists. I no longer apologize for it or brush it off as a cute hobby. This work keeps me sane, and it clearly helps others too.

Some people don’t get what I do and that’s fine. The ones who lean into their creativity as a direct line to their sanity understand exactly why drawing is effective. We feel better when we draw together; it’s our time around the cauldron of good energy.

I am grateful for every city that has held me. Chicago is my bones and taught me how to survive. San Francisco taught me how to roll with it, stay fluid, and rise above. San Miguel taught me how to unravel and rebuild. Paris reminded me to let my individual beauty shine and how connected we are. Mexico City is teaching me how to be one body among millions of people, gods and monsters, and still keep my own signal clear.

I don’t know what the next decade brings, but I doubt it will be gentle. I do know this: I am stronger, clearer, and more at peace with myself at sixty than I’ve ever been. I know what matters to me. I know how I want to spend my days. I know that as long as I live I will draw, ride a bike, sprint with my dog, and stay human until the end.

Dawn of a new era.