I’ve always loved my birthday. As a day when people ate cake because you’re a person and the earth has yearly patterns. Plus, people like to give you stuff, including hugs and money. My favourite has always been the cards, and wrapping paper. This year, all i’ve got, as a broke student, are endless incomplete map drafts. (P.S. everyone on my Christmas list, you’re getting a map).
One year ago 12/15, I turned 25, and I spent the day mostly alone. Except for the hour delivering Meals on Wheels, and afternoon spent with an aged friend recovering from a necessary open heart surgery talking about life adventures, and courage to face fears.
One year ago 12/15, I sat in my parents’ basement at my desk surrounded by mementos from a previous life, reflecting on the person I’d been to have arrived back to the place that started it all thanks to cosmic kismet. And, as I checked email at the end of an already lovely whirlwind of a day, a response from an autumn pen pal was waiting for enjoyment. The email, containing answers to 6Questions in typed form from Dan Mangan as a suddenly real-life birthday gift, was honest communication between two humans, at a moment when I needed reality to improve. With that email, I knew age 25 was going to be a year of growth.
mostly, i think as nostalgic ocd kicks in, it’s a reminder of capacity.
as each birthday comes and goes, i think we all begin to appreciate the circles of support we continue to have near us as hard everyday challenges are not easily resolved by being a certain level of adult. each age is just a number, until the number of birthdays naturally ages you with organic wisdom and perceptive intuition. just cuz.
birthdays are a bit of an ego trip too. to suddenly be faced with people collectively wishing you well, all at once. You look at depressing news with rose coloured glasses because in a thin layer of vanity today’s about you. ‘treat yo self’ is definitely enjoyable but in the long run, not sustainable. which is why, on birthdays, we can. for a second. it enables that pause from the rest of life.