I don't really want to write about my birthday. It seems very ego-centric and, yet, uninteresting. I really just needed an excuse to a) post something, and b) get out of cleaning/paperwork.
Life over the past month has been breezy, normal, and comfortable. Of course the arrival of birthday month changes everything.
I have a love-hate relationship with October. I love it because it is my birthday, and Jon's, and because of the beauty that is Fall. I hate it because it is my birthday, the days get shorter, and winter blows in much too quickly.
I think I've always had mixed emotions when it comes to celebrating the day I was born. This probably comes from being an only-child and from having parents who have been divorced for every birthday I can remember. These two things perpetuate the love-hate relationship.
Being an only-child means lots of presents and emphasis on me, which is great to an extent, but after the party is over, I'm left with a longing for more. It is never enough and so it has fostered my selfishness, as well as my acute awareness of my mortality. I definitely don't like getting older, and the bigger the celebration the more aware I am that getting older is happening and happens quickly. Additionally, having divorced parents in one sense has left me with double the parties and presents (again, adding to my conceit). But, it also means splitting/sharing time for celebrations, the guilt of choosing only one parent to spend my "actual" birthday with, and the underlying and not-so-discrete competition between my parents to provide the best gift/party/fun-quotient.
So, this year, birthday month came with beautiful weather, a fabulous U2 concert, and sweet gifts and words from friends and family. It also comes with many "quarter-of-a century" comments, my parents continuing to try to out-do each other, me figuring out how to divide my time on my big day, and my wrestling with selfish thoughts of "how many Facebook shout-outs will I get tomorrow?" and "why can't I get new ASICS, new TOMS,
and new clothes from Ann Taylor LOFT?"
I also have a husband who is so chill I sometimes think he could forget his own birthday (which would be sad) and mine (which would be heartbreaking). I find myself planning my own birthday dinner with him, down to the table linens and flowers, because I know I would be disappointed if he forgot one detail. I pick out my own gifts, ask him to throw something in there to surprise me, and then pray it's something I actually will like.
So, what's the solution? My birthday will keep coming (and every year will come more quickly). I will continue to have two birthday celebrations, one with each parent. I will always have a husband who is 100x less anal than me.
On the eve of my 25th birthday, I come to the same conclusion that I have been for the past 15+ years: I will appreciate every moment of kindness, every gift, every card. I will take in the day as slowly as possible, finding joy in the anticipation and not just the event. And, I will know that beauty, wisdom, and fulfillment come in the growing, aging, maturing, and seeking.
I have loved 24, although this time last year I was dreading it. I will choose now to love 25. I will choose now to work on my selfish nature. I will choose now to base my worth on Christ's love for me and not on how many gifts I get or how many people tell me "Happy Birthday" tomorrow.
Bring it.
--Addendum: I realize a few hours after posting this that I have made my parents out to be extremely materialistic and selfish. This representation of them probably stems from my own self-loathing. I would like to clarify that they are both very gracious and generous people who feel the pressure to please their only child and who have had to share and cooperate with each other amidst a tumultuous relationship, reopening wounds I'm sure they wish they could close for good.