This was meant to happen on Friday. But clearly, I didn’t get to it.
Ok, so yes, another year older and a year…wait, wiser wouldn’t be the word. Healthier? That I am less likely to kill someone? Whereby I feel more in control of my life than I have in the last two? Where stress is not THE major catalyst that will end me(its still there, its just not the thing that’s going to prematurely bring about my demise)? I don’t know.
On Friday 29 August I became another year older. I should imagine this would be, as most birthdays should be, time to party. You know what? It didn’t phase me. I could have cared less that I was indeed another year older. Thankful for another year on earth, but that was about it. Usually, I am rather upbeat about my birthday. Usually. This year was kind of like just any other day. Normal. Absolutely normal. I just didn’t “feel” it.
I had so much love from friends’ wishes that it was wonderful and heartwarming and again I was thankful. But, I just didn’t “feel” it. You know?
Is that what happens when you grow up? (I never really wanted to do that growing up part). Or is it that a birthday (mine) just does not hold any weight with me anymore. Would that be considered weird? When I reread that part, it really did make me sound like I fell off the crazy bus. Granted, I have been on the bus more than what was considered normal, but this time, I was nowhere near. I just wasn’t into it. And it was just a pretty normal day.
Its just that I had life to do. You know, working, being mom, life. Whether that sounds like an excuse is not relevant. 😉
To all those who took the time to send a message or to call me, you’re awesome. You’re all absolutely awesome. Xoxoxo
Here is a question:
Have your own birthdays become less relevant to you as you got older? Yes or no, I would love to hear your answer. Let me know in the comments below. 🙂