It's My Birthday And I'll Cry If I Want To
The joy and pain of celebrating yourself, and other reflections from another year around the sun.
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I expect to cry on my birthday just as much as I expect to blow out candles, receive a “happy birthday” email from my dentist, or unwrap a gift from my partner.
Last year, I made plans to drive to Mexican wine country with friends for the weekend. Wine tasting in Mexico with close friends? A cry-proof plan. On my birthday, I woke up next to my partner, who looked at his phone in horror, before announcing that 3 of my friends would not be joining after all: Two (a couple) were sick, and another booked a gig she couldn’t turn down.
Did I think “Oh well, I’m still gonna have an amazing time in Mexico!”? No. Of course not. I thought: I’m a loser and all my friends hate me.
Hello, birthday tears, good to see you again.
The heaviness of birthdays is hard to avoid. There is so much joy, wrapped up with the inevitable grief of expectation. Gratitude is the antidote, but doesn’t always come easily.
There is the weight of age. Yes, there’s the fear of physical aging, but what’s even more powerful is the recognition that our time on this earth is fleeting. Each year, our lives feel further behind us, no matter how much we have ahead. What can we still accomplish in our lifetime? Which dreams must be saved for the next?
Then, there is the weight of the party. Oh god, the party.
A few months ago, a friend told me she was going out for a birthday dinner with only two friends (I was out of town, and she sent the invite just a few days in advance). I feel so lame, she told me on the phone. Of course, she still had two great friends to celebrate with, and others who wished they could join.
Birthdays are a prime time to compare ourselves to others — are enough people here? Am I popular? Do people actually want to show up for me? It’s easy to neglect what’s in front of us with a desire for more. This keeps us in a cycle of lack and despair. It’s usually here that I start crying.
I’ve been very judgmental about the “birthday week” in the past. It’s clearly not for people born 6 days before Christmas who’ve been given “birthday/Christmas presents” for the past 20 years. I spent every birthday in college driving 6 hours back to my house after finals week. I’m not somebody whose ever had any idea what to do for their birthday.
Yet this year… I sorta had a birthday week. I invited friends over last Saturday for cake and Tarot readings, then two day later I left for Mexico with my husband, where I was on my actual birthday. I’ve seen humpback whales in the wild, eaten 1000 chips, and cried zero tears. I’ve felt fully alive all week. And when you are truly living, aging isn’t so scary anymore.
Inevitably, birthday anxiety crept in, but I was able to remain in a space of gratitude, which I recognize is MUCH EASIER on vacation and less accessible in our daily lives. But through years of trial and error, I’ve learned what works for me: Genuine relaxation, doing what I love, celebrating my friendships in intimate settings, and taking the pressure off of any one particular event.
The gift of a December birthday is that it causes very deep reflection. As I reflect on another year around the sun, I also consider my year as a whole. What am I proud of this year? Where can I go from here?
However you celebrate your next birthday, I hope you do exactly what you want to be doing and that you find time for introspection and reflection. You are alive. You get to live another day. No matter your age, your life is still in front of you. You can still take a risk on yourself. You can still take a risk on your art. It’s not too late. You are alive.
You can do anything you want for your party.
Speaking of which, joint birthday parties rule.
If you have a partner, tell them exactly what your expectations are.
You don’t have to feel good about aging to celebrate being alive.
It’s okay to cry on your birthday. Or any other day, tbh.
If you expect anxiety, try doing something alone, entirely for yourself
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