I’d like to think self-awareness counts for something, and in that vein, I’m ready to disclose that I am a birthday monster. For my birthday, I will tell you I want nothing, that it’s just a day, nothing to worry about. Please don’t lift a finger.
Do. Not. Believe. Me.
Because it turns out, every time, I do want celebration, I want company, and I want fun. And truly, I want a birthday cake. Why do I do this to myself and my loved ones? Getting to the bottom of this is probably the next step on the self-awareness excavation, and I don’t really have the energy or inclination for that right now. But see exhibit A below in the case of The People v. The Birthday Monster.
On a good day I’m a feeler, as in I’m feeling a lot at any given moment. Add to that the societal emphasis on certain birthdays—16, 21, 40—and there’s a perfect storm of introspection and contradictory emotions. Should I be planning a big party? A trip? Do I have enough friends to fill a cocktail lounge? What am I doing with my life? As you can see, I can find myself in a precipitous spiral with little provocation. My friend Laura Milligan wrote about her experience turning forty so beautifully:
On the cusp of 40, reflecting on my life’s journey, I felt both proud and pensive about my choices, the very decisions that propelled me to this moment. In the days leading up to my birthday, I wondered, just as Elizabeth Strout did, Was I sliding down the outside of a long glass building? Could anyone really see me?
Proud and pensive, indeed. I think it was as early as springtime that I felt my fortieth looming ahead.
While listening to a podcast during a jog last week—a perfect disguise for aforementioned storm of introspection—I nearly stopped during Kelly Corrigan’s conversation with Krista Tippett who said something remarkable:
Look, none of us is an equation that computes, and that is actually such a relief. And, I think . . . one thing I love about getting older is just finding that to be a liberation rather than a problem.
Yes, yes, yes. We are not neat functions that provide exact, consistent answers given specific inputs. We are imperfect individuals fully of hypocrisies and contradictions. Sometimes we don’t make sense. What a gift to reframe this as freedom rather than frustration.
So, here I am penning poems and posts about not wanting attention on my birthday, being totally fine and chill about turning forty. As art reflects life, I really did ask my girls for a picture, a poem, and flowers. And they delivered big time.
A gorgeous watercolor by my eldest who said the three flowers symbolize my three daughters.
A beautiful bouquet from my youngest.
And a lovely poem from my Belle.
Happy birthday to all who celebrate!