These are my (day of birth) Reflections

(Please read this title in the style of Usher singing, “Confessions, Part II” circa 2004).

Time is a funny thing. It’s weird in the short term in that it can go so quickly yet drag on forever. 

“What time is it? Have I combed my hair?” 

“What time is it? Can I justify going to bed this early?” 

(Answers: No, never, and Yes, always).

Time is also funny in the long-term. Like, years have gone by and it doesn’t feel that way, but then you can’t sleep one night and scroll through all your profile pictures and realize, "Holy shit, it’s been like 20 years!" Or, "Holy shit, once upon a time, I went to a lot of really cool places...wearing the exact same outfit!" 

And then, time gets messier, because people have been living and whining and trying for hundreds and THOUSANDS of years, so my forty years of mucking along is not even a drop in the humankind bucket. If geological time were “Stairway to Heaven”, all of human history would be contained in the last NOTE of the song (Spoiler: “Stairway” is a long song). 

My takeaway from this is that many came before us, they hopefully had some joy in their life, they definitely had problems, and maybe our problems are nothing new. John Lewis put this so much more beautifully in his final words to us in 2020:

You must also study and learn the lessons of history because humanity has been involved in this soul-wrenching, existential struggle for a very long time. People on every continent have stood in your shoes, through decades and centuries before you. The truth does not change, and that is why the answers worked out long ago can help you find solutions to the challenges of our time.

But I do maintain that my cat, both for his striking good looks and intelligence used for PURE SPITE, are unique to history. 

I wrote recently that I don’t really want to celebrate my December birthday for a variety of reasons, one of them being that I didn’t pick the time of my arrival. I once read that when a mother is expecting a child, her body reaches a point where it’s like, GET. OUT, and that begins the delivery process (see photo-you'd want that kid out, too).

Third trimester +, 2019

The baby doesn’t want to leave, and of course, it’s a tight squeeze, so we call it, aptly, labor. I don’t know where I read this, and I don’t know if it is true, but it fits with the narrative that is convenient for me right now, so I’m going with it. 

I didn’t pick the day of my birth, I didn’t pick my family, where I was born, etc. None of us do. I was lucky to be born in a safe place to parents who loved me. It is also recommended by some that I point out I was born white, and this has allowed me to take the HOV lanes through much of life. But I was pretty passive about the whole showing up on December 12 thing. 

I guess if nothing else the day marks a time to think about how much time has passed, and hopefully, how much more time remains in this my soul-wrenching, existential struggle. 

When I was teaching in the pre-Covid years before everyone lost their goddamn minds, I used to tell students that if they finished a test early, they could trace their hand or write an essay about the meaning of time. Most kids would trace and decorate their hands and it was adorable, but every once in a great while I would get an overachiever who would write about time. I still have one of those papers, and frankly, it’s a hell of a lot better than all this crap I just wrote. 

If you got this far, sorry I wasted your time. 

I am (mostly) proud of the person I am. I’m cynical to a fault and swear A LOT, but I have a very deep capacity for love. I love my family, though I do not look like or act like any of them, my own son included. I am too hard on people (an “asshole”) and most especially myself, but I do like to laugh, and if I can make other people laugh, that’s just the coolest. I don’t have big dreams of leaving behind a super career or a super legacy. I work hard and leave (mostly) good things behind. Like Mary Poppins. 

If nothing else, when my time comes, let that be my takeaway. 

Cheers, 

The Birth Day Girl 

PS-I will pass on any and all birthday wishes to my mother as she did all the hard labor and is always the most eager to celebrate. She’ll pray for you.