I’m officially older today, and that’s actually okay by me. No, really. It is. When I was in my twenties, a good friend of mine had a practical way of looking at birthdays. She told me, “they’re always better than the alternative. Another birthday means you’re still alive.” That’s a pragmatic approach, and it’s one I agree with.
I’m married to a guy who has an existential crisis at many of his birthdays, but I don’t seem to be that type. Of course, he’s also older than me, so maybe it gets worse as time passes.
It’s nice to look back at the last year and see that I’ve accomplished some things that I hadn’t done by my last birthday like written a couple novels, novellas, and short stories, among other things. Having a January birthday makes that reflection easy. My birthday acts as a reminder of the New Year and helps me stay on track with goals I’ve set. I didn’t make any resolutions this year, though, so I don’t have to worry about those. Some goals for my year that I’m taking stock of again are writing an hour a day, exercising every day, and meditating/centered prayer several days a week. I’ve done pretty well, but I can do better. After all, it’s the daily discipline, at least for me, that gets results like completed writing projects, weight loss, and more peace of mind.
How about you? Do you enjoy birthdays, or do you dread them?