It’s My Birthday

Thirty-eight years ago I was born in Amsterdam, NY. According to records, it was a little after 3 PM, but I was too young to remember. A few years later that would be my favorite time of the day (as that is when R.J. McNulty Elementary School let out for the afternoon).

This is a quiet birthday year. No trips to Boston or Provincetown (and no cool art installations like this and this), and though I toyed with the idea of San Francisco or Seattle, neither was quite in the financial cards (which are largely in the red). It’s all right – some years aren’t big banner years. Better to welcome them quietly, without pomp and pizzazz, and be grateful simply to be alive. That will be the goal for the ensuing year. Gratefulness. Appreciation. Kindness. Love. On the day that’s supposed to be all about me, I tend to remember how small my life is in the world, and how someone’s birthday is just another day for everyone else.

(For the remaining 364 days, however, we’ll return to me, so enjoy this one-day respite and prepare to pay homage again tomorrow.)

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