Wildlydj: The Life of DJ Lieberman

July has always carried a certain weight for me. It’s not just the heart of summer or a stretch of long, golden days, for me, July is sacred. It holds memory, grief, love, and becoming. Every year, it asks me to pause, take stock, and reflect. But this year… it’s different.

It begins today, July 1st my late grandfather’s birthday. He passed just a few months ago, and this will be the first time we mark that day without him here. His absence is still fresh. He was steady, strong, and deeply rooted in who he was, and in many ways, those roots became part of me. Remembering him now feels tender and raw, but also full of gratitude. His memory is a blessing I carry daily.

Just two days after my own birthday comes July 12th, my grandmother’s birthday. His wife. Still alive. Still full of grace and strength. I often think about how this week must feel for her and how she carries both celebration and loss, woven tightly together. There’s a quiet resilience there that runs through our whole family.

And then comes July 10th — my birthday.
This year, I turn 30.

The truth is… I never expected to live to see 30.

That sentence carries weight. There were chapters of my life that felt too dark to see past. Moments where the pressure, the pain, the loneliness, all of it, made the idea of growing older feel impossible. But here I am. Not just alive, but grounded. A little bruised, maybe, but deeply present. And that’s worth everything.

It’s my birthday. A milestone year. A symbolic crossing into a new chapter of adulthood, of responsibility, of intention. But the 10th doesn’t belong to me alone. It’s also the anniversary of my other grandparents’ wedding and the anniversary of my grandmother’s passing.

So, in one day, I hold birth, union, and loss.
Life, love, and grief braided into one sacred thread.

The days between the 1st and the 10th have become something of a spiritual container for me. A space for reflection, grounding, and recalibration. Each year, I ask myself:
What am I still carrying that no longer serves me?
What would my grandparents be proud of?
Who am I becoming and who do I still need to return to?

Ever since moving to Alaska, I’ve developed a quiet tradition: I spend my birthdays alone; off-grid, in the middle of nowhere, reconnecting with the land, with Spirit, and with myself. I don’t crave parties or attention. I crave stillness. Solitude. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel empty, but sacred.

This year, I’m taking that to another level.

I’ll be driving north; out of Alaska and into the Northwest Territories until I reach the edge of the continent. The Arctic Ocean. There, I’ll perform a mikvah, a ritual immersion in those freezing, ancient waters. Not just as a spiritual practice, but as a rebirth. A soul-reset. A way to shed the weight of the last chapter and step fully, intentionally, into what’s next.

Because for me, July isn’t just a time to remember. It’s a time to return: to myself, to my roots, to the deepest parts of who I am.

This is how I honor the ones who came before me.
How I make peace with what I’ve lived through.
And how I choose; deliberately and with both feet in, to keep going.

So here I am, turning 30 at the top of the world.
Not just surviving.
But becoming.
And for the first time, truly choosing to live wildly, honestly, and fully awake.

Because I know what it’s like to carry heaviness in silence.
To smile through pain.
To not know how to ask for help.

That’s why I’ve become deeply committed to men’s mental health.
Not just in words, but in action. In showing up, in telling the truth, in creating space where vulnerability isn’t seen as weakness, but as strength. Because I believe that healing becomes real when we share it. When we offer it back.

This year, I don’t just celebrate 30 as a personal milestone, I mark it as a turning point.
From surviving… to serving.
From holding it in… to holding space.
From the boy who didn’t think he’d make it,
to the man who now helps others find their way through.

Happy birthday, Grandpa.
You helped shape the best parts of me.
And as I step into this next chapter, I carry you with me.