On Sept. 17, I turn 22, which means you’re most likely reading this on my birthday. I’ve had a lot of birthday gifts, but being able to share quality journalism with Doane and having people excited to read the stories the Owl staff and I write makes my day. I want to take this moment to thank you; it means so much to me that people support the Owl.
However, birthdays are often dates that elicit complicated emotions. On the one hand, it’s a day of celebration. A chance to throw a party, reconnect with the people you love, enjoy good food and celebrate, well, yourself. Each birthday marks both the closing and beginning of a new era for yourself. You can close the book on a year of your life and give yourself hope for what is to come. Anything that is troubling you is drowned out by the sound of celebration that is specifically catered around you.
On the other hand, it’s quiet and devastating. For every text from a friend or family member you get, there’s always a sinking feeling you have when the day ends and that “one person” never even gave you an acknowledgment of your birthday. The older you become, your birthday becomes more of a scheduling conflict than it is something meaningful. All of this is compounded by the extensional dread of realizing you just lived another year. No matter how much I do in a year, I always feel like I “missed out” and that I wasted another one of my precious years.
Maybe this is me being ungrateful. But I think this “birthday sadness” is a reality for most people. It’s an overwhelming day that almost always ends with you quietly resigning to your room with a heavy weight in your heart. There’s a reason crying on your birthday is a common act. In fact, last year was the first time I ever cried on my birthday.
I wasn’t sad or upset with how the day went. If anything, the birthday and the days before and after it were great. But I felt emotionally flattened, like a steamroller had plowed over my mind and soul.
I won’t define my birthday’s success by whether or not I cry after the day concludes. Rather the best thing I can do is acknowledge a birthday for what it is, a day that celebrates what I’ve come from and what I will do in the future.
I think seeing a birthday fully, as this messy and emotional day of both positive and negative emotions, makes you appreciate the day more. The life you’ve lived and will continue to live will be messy and emotional, so rather than dread it or try to drown it out in violent celebration, I think letting yourself be human on your birthday makes the day less daunting.
I don’t know what 22 holds, nor do I need to know what it holds. But what I do know is that I want it to be a year of learning: learning about others, myself, the world and how all of it fits together. Whatever happens from learning is a different conversation for another day and for a different editorial.
