Another trip around the sun.
I’m of two minds about birthdays. On the one hand, I’m less than thrilled about the annual reminder of my encroaching old age. On the other hand, I see each accumulating year as an accomplishment. At its most basic, a birthday celebration happens because you survived to celebrate. Not being dead is a pretty cool thing, wouldn’t you say?
There are the usual grumps who complain, but I suspect they’d be less vocal in their dislike if they knew they weren’t having another birthday. It’s easy to be cynical when you have nothing on the line, but this is life or death.
So, I grow a little older, and I don’t feel too good about that, but I’m also wise enough to realize there’s a point to observing birthdays. I would be pretty upset to learn this was my last one, even if I choose to spend this year relaxing at home rather than going out.
Will I be with you next year at this time? That’s impossible to say. And that’s what makes the whole exercise a worthwhile endeavor. You may not have another chance for your friends and family to say, “Hey, I’m glad you’re still around. You’re important to me.” So, instead of treating birthday wishes like an onerous burden, accept them for what they are: expressions of love.
Unless, of course, they’re singing happy birthday wishes at you, at which point you can feel free to complain all you want.