Today is apparently my birthday. I’m not so convinced though. All I basically did was sit on top of a spinning globe while it made its way around the Sun. That doesn’t seem like an accomplishment that I can be proud of. It would be like getting on a bus, sitting there while the bus driver drives you downtown and then when you get downtown a bunch of people celebrate your achievement.
I’m not adverse to birthday parties. Parties are great. Gifts are great. I feel like celebrating every day. I don’t feel like I’m getting old. I don’t say clichés like “oh it’s just a number” or “you’re only as old as you feel” because I believe those are masks for people who feel old and are afraid of the inevitable death that they are one moment closer to.
I just do not see the relevance after the first one (you know, the one where you were squeezed through a vagina or rescued from your mothers open stomach?) Now THAT is an accomplishment and congratulations to everyone reading this for surviving that traumatic event.
All that being said: I love parties. I love gifts. I love life and desire to celebrate it everyday. I feel mystery and miracles in the air. I just don’t prescribe magic to a special day honoring my achievement of breathing successfully for a year.
Happy birthday Chris Scholl!!!