This is the last day that I will be 46 years old, and it’s time that I fess up to something: my birthday has always been filled with mixed emotions, and as much as I have tried to celebrate and hype it up, it’s consistently been tinged with a bit of melancholy. I know I’m not alone, and it’s far from a rare feeling; many other people disdain their day of birth, either not seeing what the big deal is, or wanting to rush through it without acknowledgment. For decades I fought against that – doing my best to honor and make that one day extra-special. Without it, we wouldn’t be here, and that’s deserving of notice.
For all the fuss and bravado about it, for all the birthday registries and vainglorious demands and day-long self-glorification, I never quite felt it. It often fell flat. All lead-up, all let-down. How could the one day of the year possibly live up to its hype? What do we really expect to happen?
This year, I’m keeping expectations low, and finding joy in whatever little things the day may bring. I’m hoping to have a quiet one with Andy, with perhaps a jaunt to the Berkshires for dinner, and then a family gathering a little later on. To lift spirits, I’m putting on this song, which is as much a reminder to be kind to others as it is to be kind to ourselves. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I need to work on that more.
