On October 2, 2013 I will be 46 years old!
I do make a
rather large deal about my birthday; it is very special to me. I make sure to do or buy ONE thing for myself (no matter how small) and
designate it as “For Me, For My Birthday”.
I tell people it’s my birthday, I even give everyone their “two months’
notice”. I wear a tiara—a very SPARKLEY tiara.
Every single year. (It makes me feel special).
(Cue MARIA…”I Feel Pretty”)
Every
single year, this one included, someone asks me why I make such a big deal
about my birthday. I grew up listening
to my father say, “I don’t care about my birthday; it’s just another day.” First of all let me point out that every day is really ‘just another day’;
any significance, good or bad, is what we choose to assign to it. Secondly, I disagree on the dismissals of
birthdays. Just look at them from the
perspective of one who knows he or she may not live to see another one. That alone lends importance to the day.
To me, my
birthday is two things:
1. My Birthday is my own, personal “New
Year’s Day”. I worked in bars for too
many years to see December 31 as anything other than “Amateur Night” or a “party”
holiday. That right there takes any
valuable significance away from it. The
whole “New Year’s Resolution” thing—a great idea—but very impersonal from the sheer
volume of participants. At best, most of
us only actually have accomplished one solid thing by the next December 31: we
successfully mastered writing the year down correctly. It may have taken us a few months to do it,
but by the end of the year we can write out a check with the correct date on
it. In any case, the end of the calendar
year celebration is impersonal—everyone is doing it. On My Birthday Eve, I reflect on the year I’ve
had, the years before, mistakes, triumphs… all of it. And I promise myself to try better,
harder. I’m not in competition with
anyone else to follow through with my resolutions; no teacher has ever asked me
to write down resolutions I’ve made on my birthday; nobody asks what I plan to
do or be. It’s very personal. And on My Birthday Eve the next year, I am
only accountable to myself if I’ve achieved or not achieved my goals. Because things we hope for ourselves, and
promise to and for ourselves are very
personal. And only we ourselves are
directly affected by them. MY Birthday
is personal; it’s about Me.
2. My Birthday is the one day of the
year that I (capital “I”) celebrate ME. The
day that I fully appreciate all that I am and have. The one day that I am guaranteed not to be so hard on myself, so
judgmental of myself, so insecure. We go
through our lives, nose to the grindstone, looking down so often. On My Birthday I make sure to stop and smell
some roses. To look up, no matter what the rest of the year up to that point
has been like. I even appreciate my age.
I laugh at the fact that I am now what I used to think “old” was. Because I don’t feel it. Or, at least I don't feel what I thought I'd feel like at this age! Every new year brings more to the table. Even the lima beans (and I can’t stand lima
beans). Because each new year also
brings-to me-hope. Even if it’s the ass-backwards form of hope
implied in the statement, “Well, it can’t be any worse than last year.”!
So there you have it. I’m a Birthday Fairy and now you know
why.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get my tiara ready for the morning.
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