Birthday Eve

Tomorrow is my birthday. Long gone are the birthdays I looked forward to with eager anticipation as a child, when the thought of being a year older was something to be celebrated without question.

There’s a line in a song I love, “I’ve had enough birthdays” It just came to mind, and I thought no, I haven’t. I sure as hell am not ready to stop yet. But there was something appealing in the line still. Then I remembered the rest of it . . . .

I’ve washed enough evenings
I’ve dried enough mornings,
I’ve had enough birthdays to know what I want

Do I know what I want? Sometimes I think I do. I know what I dream about , the list is long, but what I really want? Security, companionship, good health. I can’t really complain, I’m doing pretty well on those.

So why do I go through this dread every year when another birthday comes along, after all, its just a number, a rather arbitrarily imposed definition of what I’m meant to be, or supposed to have achieved when I reach a certain point in my life. Hell, I’ve spent most of my adult life ignoring or fighting that, the Peter Pan syndrome if you like. Another line from another song from another show “My body’s clearing forty as my mind is nearing ten.” Problem is every now and then the body reminds you that you’re a long way past ten. And that brings in the fear of getting old, and that’s the fear of losing your health more than anything.
Then you start thinking about what you’ve been through, what you’ve seen and done, who you’ve loved, where you’ve been, how much more there still is to see and do and love, and you feel sort of pleased and grateful for it all. And that’s what another birthday is really about, looking back and looking forward, so it has to be a mix of happiness and sadness, anticipation and fear. It just comes a bit more into focus that one day of the year.