It’s my birthday this week and I don’t find myself as excited about the prospect anymore. It’s not just the getting older thing or the vanity of possible wrinkles and gray hair. But seriously, what do birthdays mean as an adult? I don’t get excited about having a room full of people sing a poorly written song to me before I blowout a small bonfire candles. The goofy ‘how many boyfriends do I have’ no longer applies. (Well, to be honest, it never really did.) Nor do I really care for the rush of birthday wishes from people I haven’t heard from in over a year, because Facebook told them to. (I have deleted my birthday from social media over a year ago. So there’s that problem solved.)
What I care about more are the day to day relationships that are fostered. People that I meet for coffee on my days off. Girls I meet at spin class as we push each other a little harder with friendly competition. The people that make a joke even on my down days to make the day a little easier to bear. The friend whose bravery you admire, because they don’t settle for less.
What I appreciate more is time. As I get older the days and weeks are flying by. I don’t need more “stuff”. I want experiences. I want to make memories. All we have are a series of moments and then we die. I want to make the best of them, even without my little dude. Fifteen years with Dieter flew by. His death slapped the shortness of life in my face unapologetically. Is this where I want to be? Where do I want to be in five or ten years? I know I want to be living this thing called life to the fullest. I want a steady, dependable foundation that I can reach for the stars on. I don’t want to worry about the day to day things that drag us down like budgets and groceries. I want to spend my thoughts on something more. Free my mind for thinking, for feeling, experiencing. What do I want for my birthday?
I want the TV off. Sitting on the couch has become a least favorite activity for me. I have wasted a lot of time there and it doesn’t make memories. It used to be a special night when my sisters and I spread a picnic blanket on the living room floor to eat pizza and watch a rented video tape. Those were memories. Eating in front of the TV has no novelty value anymore. It’s constantly on and I’m not even in charge of the remote.
I want to feel like an individual all the time. When I’m alone, I feel the most confident. I get things done. I find it harder to procrastinate. Yesterday, I did some sewing on my drapes. Something I’ve been meaning to do since we moved in almost a year ago. Then I got a label off a bottle that had sat by the sink for a week. I made pizza dough. I sat down at my dining room table and wrote while listening to records. I chased the cat.
I want my cat to be a little cuddlier. Just come back here and let me love you!
I want my SUV to stop groaning like a whiny old woman. Especially when making a left turn.
I want my student loans paid off.
I want to go back to Scotland. Or maybe to London. Or Paris.
I want to go somewhere! Anywhere!
I want a magic pen that siphons ideas directly from my brain onto paper.
I want passion. You know the ‘blouse ripping, we might die tomorrow’ kind of shit!
I want to feel like me. To be myself unapologetic and guilt-free.
I want to see all those people that make memories with me.
And maybe I want some cake and cocktails too.