There used to be a time when birthdays, mine in particular, were equivalent to new years eve.
It was an event to be shared and enjoyed.
I LIVED for them, never minding the fact that the numbers were increasing. After all, when we are young, we long to be all grown up because it seems like more glamorous and fun.
My parents stopped hosting birthday parties for me when I was done with elementary school. But then, I had a fantastic Sweet 16!
As I got older, I tried to make sure to have friends around me as I said goodbye to one year and welcomed another. Being with people you love is the best way to celebrate any life event, even just another birthday.
40 was creeping up on me (a little too quickly, might I add), leaving me needing glasses while squinting to look back at 30. Birthdays were starting to be just another day in my ever shortening life expectancy.
I just kind of completely stopped looking forward to them.
I try to make my kids birthdays something to remember, whether it be a quiet night at home gorging on homemade cake with family or having a few kids over to make french bread pizzas and watch videos. I try to give my kids happy memories like the ones I have of my youth.
My own birthdays just don’t seem to matter as much anymore. They lack the luster they once had. And the number just seems WAY TOO BIG.
This year, I decided that life is far too short to Scrooge my birthdays. Besides, the last thing I need showing up in my bedroom in the middle of the night are the ghosts of birthdays past, present and future. The shadows on my walls scare me badly enough, I’d probably have a heart attack if any of these entities showed up to take me on a tour of my life.
I’m going to be 42 on March 29th.
I know. I’m old.
I need to start enjoying my birthdays again because ignoring them doesn’t make them go away. They keep coming at me, fast and furious.
I decided that, starting this year, I’m going to begin embracing the day again (and deny my age, standing firm at 35 because that was a great year, hubba hubba).
I’m throwing myself a little birthday party. Oh hell to the yeah I am. Like the teeny bopper I wish I still was. I’m going to blast those 80’s bands, in particular…you know who (those fellers who never answer my tweets…sniffle…Duran Duran). I’m going to drink wine like it’s my 21st, except I believe I was doing tequila shots with my college friends like a high school senior on spring break in Mexico. Minus the worm. And the Mexican waiter named Memo. And the shark tank at Carlos n Charlies. THAT is another story for another time.
Me. 42. I’m not really OK with that. But, I’m going to ignore the number part and begin enjoying my birthdays again.
I’m armed armed with fabulous friends, family and health. I’m ready to enjoy.
March 29th c’mon…bring. It. On.