Today is my husband's birthday. You might think this a joyous occasion in our happy home, but like me he isn't that excited about growing a year older. Don't get me wrong, I love birthdays. I love the surprise. I love shopping for the perfect gift. I love wrapping and attaching a big bow. I even love standing in the aisle at Target reading 73 cards until I find just the right one; the card that makes me laugh out loud and smile so proudly at myself. I love giving gifts and receiving gifts and who can forget the best part of birthdays: CAKE!!
It's the getting older part that I have a hard time with. It all started when I turned 25. Until then, my birthday was a day that I looked forward to. A day that I knew would be all about me: taking me to lunch, buying me presents, sleeping over at my house, and (when I was older) buying me beverages all night. Then one day I woke up and turned a quarter century. How had this happened so quickly?
I began to assess my life. I had a college degree, a job, great friends, a loving family, a boyfriend that I was really into, but why wasn't I happy? Why wasn't I eagerly making plans and organizing a series of events to celebrate me?
In retrospect, I think it was because all of the sudden I had became a grown-up. And grown-ups have "things". They have careers, houses, children, retirement accounts. I had none of those things and more than anything I began to realize I desperately wanted them. But good news: later that day my great friends brought me to a surprise "Over the Hill" party and proudly handed me a cane. Somehow it didn't make me feel better...