What’s a Saturn return? In astrology, it’s when Saturn returns to the exact spot it occupied at your birth, roughly every 29.5 years. Most of us feel it around ages 27–30, 58–60, and again in our mid-80s. It’s a rite of passage: a season of accountability, boundaries, and maturation that invites us to realign our lives with what’s true. Chani Nicholas describes your Saturn Return as, "A period of self-definition where individuals are challenged to define themselves for themselves, not for their family, society, or anyone else's expectations".

I've come to understand each Saturn return as a threshold. It's a transition from one phase of life into the next: from youth to adulthood. Adulthood to late middle age. Middle age to eldership. They are wake-up calls that ask us to consider our aspirations and readjust our aims for the next phase of life.

I turned 60 last Thursday under a big, benevolent Montana sky—and with that, I closed out my second Saturn return. I can feel the arc of it, the gravity, and the grit. For me, the unraveling began around 55, and the deepest excavation happened from 57 to now: I completed the dissolution of my marriage, I stopped cancer treatments, I faced down more endings than I thought I could hold. Also, I took the Saturn return course in the Chani app somewhere in there, and it gave language to what my bones already knew: Saturn returns don't punish, they teach. They are thresholds, transitions from one phase of life into the next: from youth to adulthood. Adulthood to late middle age. Middle age to eldership. They are wake-up calls that ask us to consider our aspirations and readjust our aims for the next phase of life.

Maybe that’s why I feel called—responsible, even—at sixty to turn and offer a hand to those of you in your 20s, heading into your first Saturn return. Wobbly doesn’t mean wrong. Hard doesn’t mean hopeless. Sometimes the Detour is the only road that gets you home. But perhaps your version of it can be a little less bumpy with some shared stories of what it's felt like to normalize your experience. If you (or your daughters) want to chat about this, I'm very into it lately!

Also, what’s wild and wonderful is that three generations of women in my family are in Saturn seasons right now. As I complete my second, my daughter is starting her first at 27. My mom is beginning her third at 86. My sister is stepping into her second and is what I like to call “astro curious.” We’re a living constellation: different orbits, but the same sky.

This week, sixty showed up with celebration and ease. My dear friends Lily and Harriet threw me a little backyard shindig. All I had to do was put on a dress and show up—what a joy to be cared for like that. Harriet's daughter Ivy put together a playlist of songs from some of my favorite movies: The Big Chill (that soundtrack still slaps), The Sound of Music (Oscar winner the year I was born), A River Runs Through It, and Legends of the Fall. Clearly, I'm a sucker for Montana stories, harmonies, and a good ensemble cast. The guest list was intentionally small and multigenerational - my preference always. Highlights of the evening: rolling down a grassy knoll in the backyard hand-in-hand with a friend's 7-year-old son, shotgunning a beer (check that off my 59 for 59 list), and cherry pie!

But here’s the truth about turning sixty: I don’t ever want to repeat my 50s. That decade undid me. And it rebuilt me. Both can be true. Now, stepping into my 60s, I feel a full-body woo hoo (!!). Bring it on.

My north star for this decade is that I’m going to decide where I want to live for the rest of my life and move there by the time I'm 75. I don’t want my kids worrying about it, and I’m wide open to a communal living situation with girlfriends—shared porches, shared meals, shared sunrise walks. Sovereign and held. That’s the dream I'm hoping for myself.

And because I’m me, I’ve also set a few Dares for my 60th year. Here they are:

1. I'm going alpine skiing for the first time since the boobs. years ago, a physician looked at my DEXA scan and told me my back might break if someone crashed into me. That lodged in my head and held me back. I’ve worked hard to rebuild my bone density and my courage, and I’m ready to click in again.
My big trip in 2026 will be a pilgrimage. (I'm seriously looking the El Camino in Portugal. Has anyone been?!)
I'm getting a tattoo: "Sine Metu Vivere" in my own handwriting. It means Live without fear. On skin, in spirit.

I believe in the power of Detours to shift perspective and build resilience. I’ve seen it in my life again and again—from Oregon forests to New York City sidewalks to California beaches to Montana mountains. If you’re feeling the tug to take one, consider this your permission slip. And if you want community while you do it, that’s why I built Dare to Detour. To gather women who are ready to rediscover themselves, together.

Here’s to the next decade of Daring and devotion. To bees and backcountry, porch lights and pilgrimages, friendship and fresh tracks. To living without fear... or at least with fear in the passenger seat while I drive.

Sixty, I’m ready. Woo hoo.

xo,
Sheryl

P.S. On the adventure front, thank you for all the love on my 21-day van recap. So many of you said it inspired you to try your own version. Even my mommy commented on my posts. (Very Daring of her!) I’m planning a quick camping run to the Boulder River Valley to keep the momentum going (and to finally figure out my compostable toilet… apparently, kitty litter is the secret no one tells you about!). I'll also be out there catching bumblebees for the Montana Bumble Bee Atlas. Netted bees, wide rivers, quiet nights. Sounds like the best kind of homework.

GET MY FULL ROAD TRIP ITINERARY