Birthday week has come and gone and a great one it was. Luckily, birthday month not only continues, but it ends with a flight to Ireland. (I need an ecstatic emoticon here!)
I love my birthday. I love your birthday. I love birthdays!
I know they’re just days that signify we’re getting older, and believe me, I know I’m getting older, but I appreciate the annual reminder. That I get to get older. What’s that familiar adage? Better to get old than the alternative? Something like that.
I am grateful to be getting older, to still be alive, to be gifted with the privilege.
I consider my birthday a kind of New Year. When you think about it, that’s exactly what it is—a personal New Year’s Celebration. I reflect on the past twelve months, look to the future, but most importantly, I assess where I am right this minute. Regardless of where I may be, upon birthday evaluation, I find I’m usually in a pretty good place. And I’m thankful.
It’s good for me to keep it in perspective like that. Some days kind of suck and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Unfortunately those days make me doubt the overall goodness. My blessings far outweigh my sucky days and I appreciate the effort others take to remind me.
I realize a lot of people don’t like to celebrate birthdays, to acknowledge the aging process. Some don’t want to think about it, refuse to focus on something beyond their control.
(and there’s enough to do just keeping up with the doctor’s appointments, right?!)
Others prefer to think of each new day as a gift, why wait for the anniversary?
I get that, I respect that. But I still like birthdays.
And Ireland. I’m pretty sure I’ll like Ireland.