Another Trip Around the Sun

The one about birthdays.

A couple of weeks ago, I turned 35. I originally sat down to write a pre-birthday reflection of sorts, and then a chat about goals for this new year, but here we are, and turns out none of that is what I ended up writing.

So, let’s just talk about birthdays.

I have always loved them. I love birthdays in a big, possibly obnoxious way and always have — my own, of course, but also yours, and other people’s. (At my old job, I drove with birthday balloons in my car so often that it almost felt like a running joke.) It’s the one day that’s just for you, and it’s always felt special and mysterious — like the universe conspired, and decided that was meant to be the moment you arrived in the world. Sort of wild, isn’t it?

I grew up in New York, so my birthday marked the very end of summer on the east coast, and fell riiiight before the new school year started. As anyone with a summer birthday can tell you, it was endlessly disappointing in elementary school to never be able to celebrate in class; I just wanted to bring in some Dunkin’ munchkins (chocolate obviously) like the kids with birthdays during the rest of the year. But still, I loved my birthday, and my mom tried to make it extra special every year, usually with a lot of purple balloons and a fluffy cake filled with whipped cream and sliced strawberries. And that time of year, it always had this sort of electricity in the air, that end of summer and pre-back to school energy — a feeling I can still feel in my heart today, right now, when I think back to it. Some sort of magic, made up of days in the pool and warm evenings and barbecues, anticipation mixed with summertime sadness.

And so, I love birthdays, although they feel different the older I get. That’s the thesis here.

This year, it was a second pandemic birthday for me, although this time, I wasn’t quarantining — my vaccinated self was on my first cross-country trip since….eh, fall 2019? It was nice to have a chance of scenery, not to mention the amazing breakfast sandwich I had, although to be completely honest, my day was largely filled with anxiety and stress, because traveling during a pandemic (especially when you’ve essentially gone nowhere beyond your yard for a year and half) is not for the faint of heart. [Note: It was fine! And ended much better than it started. Just took some getting used to, being around so many people and in a new place.]

When I turned ages 32 and 33, I had mini freak-outs — more than I ever had turning any other age. Suddenly, it felt like my life was passing me by. Flying, really. Last year, at 34, I was too stricken with grief to care much about being any older, as my mom died exactly one month prior. I’d already had enough of a reminder of how lucky it is to have a birthday. It’s a luxury, growing older.

This year, I had none of the getting older dread I’d felt at, say, 33, but I did have the hard-to-shake feeling that my birthday was somehow less important or less significant all of a sudden… particularly without my mom around to celebrate it. It doesn’t totally make sense (I have family and friends who love me — my mom wasn’t the only one to believe that me being born was a good idea, of course), and it’s perhaps a bit silly to say out loud, but it felt like without the person who thought my birth was the literal best day ever (I mean, she was there after all), it was no longer as meaningful or necessary to commemorate. And yet at the same time, because human emotions are complicated and illogical sometimes, I still wanted the day to somehow be special, or for the universe to visibly have my back for those 24 hours… even despite semi ignoring and downplaying that it even was my birthday (and inevitably being disappointed when it didn’t feel like a proper celebration had been had — whatever that means when you’re no longer 9).

I didn’t quite recognize myself, in that train of thought. I’m the one who loves birthdays, remember? Why the apathy, or the indifference?

I’m sharing this because I have a suspicion that I’m not the only one who’s had a confusing relationship with their birthday as of late. While sure, my mom not being around is part of it for me, I think the ongoing pandemic and onslaught of negative news and just the overall stress of life lately (the world feeling like it’s falling apart at the seams, for one) has contributed. We are not existing in a vacuum, and eventually all of *this* is going to catch up, and manifest in maybe some weird ways. Like not wanting to have a birthday and also wanting to have positively delightful one all at the same time.

Pandemic life has made it feel like we’re never doing enough, and that, well, we’re not doing much of anything at all. I felt like age 34 was a blip on the radar, and I barely had anything to show for it — to prove I’d lived out a whole new year. But we’re surviving here. I did that at age 34 — I made it to 35 — and right now, that’s enough. More than enough, really.

I don’t think we need tragedy to remind us of what’s most important in life or how sacred our time is, but the pandemic has nevertheless been a solid reminder. Life is short — like yep, check, we sure know that. Most everyone I know has lost at least one person related to Covid, or as a consequence of this pandemic, and gosh, that’s not something to take lightly. So every trip around the sun, every opportunity to get another year older and collect more memories and wrinkles and experiences in incredible. It’s breathtaking. It’s a damn gift.

And I know there’s plenty of people out there who will be quick to remind that the world doesn’t revolve around any one of us, and birthdays are nothing more than another day on the calendar, not a holiday, but I don’t want to hear it. Why not enjoy it, even as harsh and heartbreaking as life may seem these days, and embrace it as an opportunity?

On that note, today’s my husband’s birthday! While he’s never been a big fan of celebrating his own, luckily for him I’m pouring out all of my birthday enthusiasm onto his day this year. 😉

Sending you all the YAYs,

Joelle

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