Do you remember when you were little, and your birthday was your most anticipated event of the year? And it was so cool because it was a day all about you, and because you’re so fresh to the world, you see the world as revolving around you (thank you, relativism). Maybe you’d invite your whole class to a bowling alley and there’d be a bunch of pizza, or everyone got together at a park. You’d see the stack of presents, and a mom would be there with a paper and pen, keeping track of which gift was from whom so you could write thank you cards later.
I remember waking up to my dad making lemon pound cake for breakfast, my mom planning these fun class parties at the local bowling alley, and feeling so freaking excited to hear my name announced over the intercom at school. I would beg my mom to buy cupcakes to bring into class, and even though that crown they would put on my head was stupid and heinous, I looked forward to it like nothing else.
Now I’m 20 years old (what the hell?) and I only have one question: what happened?
I remember my Sophomore year of high school, I met a guy at a concert. We were walking back to my car afterwards (it was dark and my friend was AWOL) and I asked him when his birthday was. He said, “Uh, I don’t really remember. I don’t really like my birthday, to be honest.” What? I was so confused, because who wouldn’t like their birthday? I thought that guy was perhaps an outlier, but I’ve met a lot of people in my short years on this planet, whether for a long time or a brief time, and in the most disheartening discovery, I’ve learned that a lot of people aren’t all that thrilled about their birthday.
That makes me sad. I go bat sh*t crazy about people’s birthdays. I think they’re one of the most exciting times of the year, and I go wild about other people’s birthdays because it’s a holiday all about them! Of course I’m thrilled that this person I love has been alive for another 365 days. Of course I’m so jazzed to get to celebrate that and specifically, excessively show them how grateful I am that they’re still around.
But being excited about someone else’s birthday isn’t the same as being excited about your own. This year was the first year my birthday felt off to me. Well, not my birthday itself, but the time leading up to it. I learned earlier this year that with age meant more complexities in my life, changes to my mental health, new struggles to face. And, in being completely honest, this past October I wasn’t entirely sure that I was going to make it to my birthday. Things felt awfully bleak. I felt the loneliest I ever have, I felt the most overwhelmed, the least adequate, and quite frankly, really unworthy of a lot of things. So with my birthday coming up, I hit a small crisis of trying to find meaning in it, especially since I had friends who didn’t like their birthdays. In a feat of extraordinary effort, I did it. I found that meaning again.
Here’s what I offer to you, if you’re looking for reasons to be excited about your birthday.
You made it. You stuck around on this world for another 365 days. Even though there were days that were really, really hard and trying. Even though there may have been people who hurt you, challenges that seemed far too big to tackle–you did it. And that’s something to celebrate.
You’re special, and you deserve to feel it. You’re birthday is literally a celebration of the day you were born. It is a celebration that out of all the possibilities, you were born into the world. You are so wonderfully, exceptionally special, and you deserve to feel that way. Be royalty on that day. Eat cake for breakfast. Wear a beautiful dress and fur coat on a Wednesday. Beg your sister for a photo shoot (yes, this is exactly what I did). Be as extra and self-loving as you could possibly be, because today is all about you, damnit.
The world can feel cold and bleak, so celebrate as a way to say “f*ck you”. I personally like to consider myself as a little edgy, a little rebellious. But I know that I’m certainly not alone in feeling angry at the world sometimes. Okay, a lot of times. There has been a lot of nightmare-ish news even just in this past year. It feels like the assholes of the world are begging me to give up and succumb to the sadness and despair. And sure, maybe you feel a little bad celebrating while Muslims are in concentration camps in China, Flint still has no clean water, and Yemen is enduring a horrible famine. But to take a day and celebrate life? Your life? Do it. Do it to boost your morale, celebrate your existence and how grateful you are for it, and tomorrow go rally and raise hell in the streets against injustice.
I refuse to not celebrate my birthday. I refuse to not acknowledge that I am special and that each year alive is another accomplishment, even if all I did was make it another 365 days. People love you. People really, really love you. So whether you want to go balls to the wall and throw a massive party or just crack open a bottle of wine with your best friend, take the opportunity to smile at your existence. And happy birthday, from me to you.