Image by PepaLove on Pixabay
Yes: today (1/23) is my birthday. And no, it’s not one of those ones that ends in a zero so it’s not as apocalyptic as it could be. But it still feels important.
An episode from The Big Bang Theory always comes to mind when I tell someone happy birthday or hear it myself. Leonard explained his family didn’t celebrate birthdays because they focused on achievement and “… being expelled through a birth canal” was not considered one.
That statement was hilarious to me because I’d often already thought of it that way. Birthdays, in many aspects, are actually about the mom. She’s the one who did all the work. When I became a mom and we celebrated my boy’s first birthday, I remember thinking back to the actual labor and delivery. And suddenly realizing (I know it sounds stupid, but it’s true) that my mom went through all that. Six times.
Birthdays may not be about accomplishment, certainly, but they do have legitimate clout. The more of them I collect, the more I realize not only time is passing, but opportunities are as well. That’s not entirely pessimistic; it’s simply true. I can’t have more children at my age. Winning a presidential election is not in my future. Nabbing a gold medal in the 100 meters ain’t happening. So the realization that years are passing, far from being depressing or stressful, doesn’t trouble me. It’s just nature’s way of forcing an audit.
I find that I often examine my actions on and around my birthday by default. Am I spending time on my priorities or on busy work? Have I created or accomplished anything lately? Is my actual daily life consistent with my soul? At least mostly? What’s next?
The anniversary of one’s emerging into the world is a great time to explore those thoughts. I usually treat the day like a Sabbath and give myself the right to rest as well. The time to think, analyze, and imagine. That’s a gift few people allow themselves but it’s the only that really matters to me.
Sure, cake is great! I don’t mind if someone brings me one. Presents can be fun, too. But that kind of stuff is not what I cherish the most. On my birthday, the time before others remember or mention it is actually more enjoyable to me. Even if they forget it altogether (which doesn’t offend me because I know I do the same.) When no one acknowledges the date, I feel like I’m keeping a playful little secret from the world. Here I am, super happy on my special day! Don’t you wish you were me?
In fact, I prefer that my birthday remains unsung. That way none of the sensitive people in my life feel guilty about forgetting it or failing to get a gift, which I don’t want anyway. Instead, I’ll binge true crime on TV, make pancakes, and simmer in gratitude for another year. Who could ask for more?