Another birthday.
Sigh.
Don’t remind me.
I’m not counting.
Actually, I refuse to count.
Because if we’re being technical, this isn’t about how many years I’ve been here.
It’s about how many years I still have ahead of me.
And as far as I’m concerned, my life is just beginning.
So whatever number of candles are going on that cake?
Decorative.
They mean nothing.
They’re just there to create a small fire hazard.
Please don’t ask me how old I am.
That is, to be honest, one of the most offensive questions you can ask a woman like me.
How old do you think I am?
Oops.
Never mind.
Don’t answer that.
One wrong answer and we may have to reconsider this friendship.
😂
Apparently I’m now unc status
My youngest daughter would probably describe my current situation differently.
And because I’ve been exposed to enough Gen Alpha vocabulary to be dangerous, allow me to translate my birthday feelings into the language of the youth:
“Even though I’m literally unc status now and my fam and friends are lowkey cooking up a whole party, I still gotta make this day absolute cinema. Like, aging is NOT giving, fr fr. Huhu. But no cap, I still love birthdays. Blowing out candles hits different, and I get to go full-on goblin mode on all the food without worrying about the belly fat arc. W day fr.”
There.
I think I nailed it.
My daughter is probably reading this thinking:
“Mom, please stop.”
But secretly, I know she’s impressed.
I can talk to her in her language.
I know what “lowkey” means.
I know what “fr fr” means.
I know what “no cap” means.
I know what “unc” means.
I’m basically one TikTok away from becoming Gen Alpha.
Until I scold her.
Then suddenly I’m no longer cool.
Apparently my Gen Alpha credentials can be revoked at any moment.
I still love birthdays
Here’s the thing.
I may complain about the candles.
I may pretend I’m offended by the passage of time.
I may dramatically sigh whenever someone brings up my birthday.
But I actually love birthdays.
I love the little fuss.
The messages.
The greetings.
The cake.
The food.
The ridiculous number of photos taken before anyone is allowed to eat.
And there’s something about blowing out candles that still makes me smile.
Maybe it’s because birthdays give us permission to stop for a moment.
To look around.
To appreciate the people who are still here.
To remember the things we’ve survived.
To laugh about the things that used to seem so serious.
And to make a wish.
Even when we’re old enough to know that wishes require a little work.
I’m still curious
If there’s one thing I don’t want to lose, it’s curiosity.
I still want to know things.
I still want to travel.
I still want to write.
I still want to learn.
I still want to understand people.
I still want to try things I’ve never done.
I still get ridiculously excited when an idea pops into my head.
Sometimes at the worst possible time.
Of course.
I’ll be doing something completely unrelated and suddenly think:
“Wait. That’s a good blog post.”
Then I have to grab my phone and write it down before my brain decides to delete the file.
I don’t think curiosity has an expiration date.
And I hope mine never does.
I’m also still figuring things out
I wish I could tell you that I’ve reached the point in life where I have everything figured out.
I haven’t.
Not even close.
I still overthink.
I still change my mind.
I still make mistakes.
I still occasionally walk into furniture as though the furniture has personally offended me.
I still break drinking glasses.
I still get startled when my mother appears out of nowhere because apparently she has perfected the art of moving around the house like a ninja.
I still have approximately 47 browser tabs open.
And yes, they’re still loading.
But I’ve stopped thinking these things mean I’m failing at adulthood.
Maybe this is adulthood.
You keep figuring things out.
You keep learning.
You keep adjusting.
You keep laughing at yourself when you can.
And when you can’t…
You drink coffee and try again.
I don’t think my best years are behind me
This is the part I really want to remember.
Birthdays can sometimes make us look backward.
We count what we’ve accomplished.
What we haven’t.
The plans that worked.
The plans that didn’t.
The things we thought we’d have by now.
The things we never expected to have.
But I’m not interested in making a list of what I should have done by this point.
I’m more interested in what I still want to do.
There are stories I haven’t written.
Places I haven’t seen.
People I haven’t met.
Ideas I haven’t explored.
Things I haven’t learned.
Meals I haven’t eaten.
Cakes I haven’t tried.
And probably several more glasses I haven’t accidentally broken.
😂
There’s still so much life left to live.
Why would I spend my birthday worrying about a number?
Maybe growing older isn’t the problem
Maybe we’ve been looking at it wrong.
Maybe getting older isn’t about becoming less.
Maybe it’s about becoming more yourself.
You learn what matters.
You become less interested in impressing people.
You become more comfortable saying no.
You learn which battles deserve your energy.
You stop pretending to like things you don’t.
You laugh more freely.
You become more curious about what makes you happy.
And perhaps you finally understand that you don’t need permission to build a life that makes sense to you.
I like that version of getting older.
I’m keeping that one.
So here’s to another year
Not another number.
Another year.
Another collection of ordinary days that will eventually become memories.
Another year of writing.
Working.
Laughing.
Learning.
Traveling.
Making mistakes.
Trying again.
Being a mom.
Being a friend.
Being a daughter.
Being a woman who still hasn’t completely figured herself out.
And that’s okay.
Because I don’t want to become a finished product.
That sounds terribly boring.
I want to keep changing my mind.
Learning new things.
Trying ridiculous ideas.
Writing about them afterward.
And occasionally embarrassing my children with my suspiciously good knowledge of their slang.
Most importantly, I want to keep being curious about this strange, funny, sometimes exhausting thing called life.
And if you ask me what I want for my birthday…
I’ll probably tell you I don’t need anything.
But secretly?
I want more life.
More laughter.
More good conversations.
More stories.
More adventures.
More ideas.
More reasons to sit down and write.
More moments that make me say,
“Okay, that was actually pretty funny.”
And enough wisdom to recognize them when they happen.
I don’t know exactly what the next chapter looks like.
But I know I’m going to write it.
Preferably with coffee.
Preferably surrounded by people I love.
Preferably without breaking another glass.
No promises, though.
And if there happens to be cake involved…
Even better.
Because apparently, I’m still young at heart.
And that’s the only age I’m interested in counting. ❤️
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