Today is my birthday. It’s not a Big One — those that end in a Zero and cause people to lose their fucking minds — or anything like that. It’s simply the anniversary of the day I arrived here — on Planet Earth.
I love my birthday. Make no mistake. People born in December wait all year to celebrate EVERYTHING. There are no presents in our lives — save for the ones which come at the end of the year. Christmas and your birthday tend to blend into one gigantic End Of The Year Festival. When it arrives at long last — the Joy is doubled down.
Your Birthday is blessed with Magic.
My mother’s birthday was Christmas Eve. She did a mostly great job of making sure there was a line of demarcation between the celebrations. However, in Northeast PA where I grew up — Winter often intervened and it was anyone’s guess if my birthday parties would have to be canceled due to snow, ice, or a combination of both. Plus — sometimes people were just… busy. Hauling their kid off to One More Thing was just too much to ask.
But it didn’t matter. I loved that my birthday was the week before Christmas. I still do.
I took today off work. And I’m being nice to myself. I have a couple special treats lined up to indulge myself. I am writing. There is no agenda. And tonight The SO is coming over for dinner — we are spending Time together.
I am exhaling all the way down to the base of my lungs. Because I can.
Sometimes the best birthday gifts are the ones you give yourself.