It's my birthday on Sunday. Birthdays are my favorite thing in the world. If I could wear a superhero cape for the day, I would.
Birthdays are like our very own personal New Year's Eve, aren't they? A time to ponder, reflect, celebrate, and move forward with new things. It's a fresh new year and the world is ready to hold our needs, wants, desires and dreams for another 12 mos.
My daughter recently asked, "If you could be whatever ago you want, what would it be?" I can honestly say that now is the age I always want to be. I've learned shitloads in my life and I'd never trade that wisdom for less wrinkles around my eyes or a dimple-free ass. I do wonder, however, how far my ass will fall before it's just laying on the backs of my thighs.
But my falling ass doesn't concern me. To me, aging gracefully means putting less value on our bodies, and more value on our wisdom. I'm trying to follow this strategy with every fiber of my freckled, wrinkled, body.
As much as I love my own birthday, I'm horrible with remembering others. Dates on the calendar just don't mean much to me unless it's mine. I know it's narcissistic. I've tried many approaches to correct this, but nothing works.
My sister has a great tradition with a group of friends. They meet monthly, and if your birthday lands in that month, you bring gifts for everyone else. That way, no one feels like an asshole for forgetting someone's special day. That is my kind of tradition.
Whatever your tradition, allow yourself to feel lucky on your birthday. You get another year to learn, survive, thrive, teach, forgive, and treasure.
When your child asks you, "If you could be any age, what would it be?" What is your answer? I hope you say, "This one."