Ah, birthdays. For some reason, we all celebrate the day we were brought into the world, even though we didn't do any of the work. The mothers really should be the one getting all the praise and gifts. They are the ones that had to get all fat and work hard to bring us into the world in the first place. Anyway, I just had my 33rd birthday. Not an exciting number. No milestone, no new privileges, no one saying "You're legal!" or "Now you are an adult!" or "Mid-life crisis yet?" There is nothing to write home about 33.
What I find interesting is how I feel about birthdays in general now. When you are kid, you couldn't wait to be "this many" and use both hands. We were in such a hurry to grow up. Each birthday was about the long list of toys we wanted and hoped we got. There was cake and ice cream and friends to celebrate the years you've accomplished and the one you were heading into. Birthdays meant parties, telling your friends and/or teachers your birthday was that day over and over and over again, sleepovers, gifts, sugar until your eyeballs hurt, gifts, skating rinks, games, gifts, counting on another finger because you were older, gifts...... birthdays were something you counted down to out of excitement. Birthdays were just that though. Fun. The day came, you partied your face off and then the next day came and you moved forward with new toys, fantastic memories, possibly a belly-ache and cavity, and a new list of things you wanted for next year. Not when you hit your late 20's. That changes everything.
I'll be honest, my birthday crisis didn't really start until I turned 30. I was on the brink of a meltdown at 29, but put it off one more year. Thirty. What a bad word. Things begin to sag, droop, darken, wrinkle, ache and dull. That's not what bothers me the most though. For some reason, when you become "of career age," birthdays become a way of looking at your life, judging it based on some stupid "What I need to accomplish by (insert age here)" list and becoming depressed when you realize you couldn't be further from your goal. Your unrealistic goals. Why do we use birthdays as the day to step back and observe our accomplishments (or lack of)? As if there is some golden rule that by the time your are 30, you must have the perfect well-paying career, an established 401K, a spouse, a house with a picket fence and 2 1/2 kids. Seriously? I'm STILL not sure I'm in my correct field of work. I do have a husband, a house with a privacy fence in the back yard, I think my job has a 401k that I put money into and we have a 1 year old. Just one 1 year old. I was certain by this age I'd have a much higher paying – much more important job, a bigger house, and I was supposed to be done having all the children we were going to have.... 2. My list of accomplishments by 30 was incredibly long. I felt that everything must be checked off in permanent marker by now. The check boxes on my list are barely filled in. We fall for this "I must be depressed about my birthday" mentality and set ourselves up to fail. There should be a class in college about the real world and how to set easily attainable goals once you graduate. Ok, maybe not "easily" but REALISTICALLY attainable goals. Do humans LIKE being depressed?!
This year, I'm going to try my darndest to count my blessings, consider what I have achieved to be impressive and forget my age. Ok, the last part is for my sanity. Like I said earlier, 33 isn't exciting. I'll take my droops and wrinkles and aches one step at a time and thank God He blessed me with family and friends to surround me, the knowledge of Him to save me and know that I'll have to do all this again next year. Help me Rhonda, I'll have to do this again next year.
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