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Day 11

Why Do We Celebrate Birthdays?

First off the birthday is not the day you were born but the anniversary of the day you were born. Wait. Duh.

Someone once said to me that your first birthday was actually your second birthday because the day you were born is the first. But the day you celebrate every year is your birthday, so it’s the anniversary of the day you came out of your momma, in whatever method. That day is the first of the rest of your life.

That all sounds more like a shower thought.

According to this random website I found when googling why do we celebrate birthdays, the tradition of celebrating widespread only goes as far back as the 19th century, when people began to actually like kids?

Apparently if you read up on it, it gets super sexist. Romans were among the first to celebrate but only the men’s birthdays.

Assigning numbers to someone’s existence

I could say something profound and deep here about how age is just a number placed upon a person numbering their days of suffering upon the earth. A number which can determine their worth and value to other people depending on their path and station in life.

But it’s legit just the number of rotations you’ve ridden this rollercoaster of life around the sun. With each and every turn of this constant spin cycle your body decides to quit more and more tasks at an alarmingly faster rate.

Girl, you ok?

I’m fine, chill.

But there are not many people who can, with all honestly, tell you that it doesn’t make them feel good when someone wished them a happy birthday. Yesterday the young lady (that makes me sound super old), whom I don’t think I’ve ever seen before in my entire life, wished me a happy birthday. It made me feel quite good.

Today, my sister in law walked back into a store after having left it, just to be sure she told me happy birthday.

Despite the fact that I have been away from it for 200+ days, I’m sure I have at least a few Facebook birthday wishes, and I feel awful for not responding to them.

Six years ago, my family surprised me with a little birthday party. We had homemade pizzas and they got me gifts.

A whole day celebrating you. You were born and someone wants you to have a good day. People care. That’s important.

There have been years that I have not wanted to celebrate at all. I have not wanted to acknowledge my birthday. But my husband would never not do something. Because he loves me, in-spite of all my nonsense, he loves me.

Sure, you’re one year older

But you don’t have to look at it that way. You’ve survived yet another ride on this carousel of chaos, you’ve lived to blow out another candle, or listen to another Happy Birthday song. However you recognize the yearly event of still kicking around this big, oddly shaped, not quite round ball of blue and green, you did it, and there might be one or two people out there who are glad you did.

And that can make you feel pretty darn good. Even if you’re turning 37. Again.

Thanks for reading!

-happy birthday to c