Happy Birthday To Me

Thirty-Three

I like the way it feels to say it…three…three. I still feel a childish excitement on every birthday, like the year is my present to be unwrapped, endless possibilities unfolding, the unknown future much more inviting than the mistakes of the past.

Mike has the baby upstairs with her, and I am lying in bed in a sun-filled room asking myself all kinds of hard questions. It feels decadent to spend so much time in bed thinking about me. I often lose myself in the day, not always a bad thing, but I miss reflecting, that solid feeling that comes from being honest with yourself and really seeing who you are.

Being here, at my mother’s house, brings all my darkness to light. There are things I am too old to hang on to, lessons I should have learned by now, generations of mistakes repeated again and again.

I am momentarily lost in a montage of childhood. I can still feel the magic of the world my mother created, where we were all special on our birthdays, receiving breakfast in bed with a serenade, and a spectacular homemade party that no one could match. She would cook the food, decorate the house, play games, dance and sing with us and tell ghost stories. My friends loved her. I loved her. I always had fun on my birthday. Even in the darkest years of my life, she found a way to bring a little magic and happiness on that special day. My surprise party on my sixteenth was legendary. A talent show full of performances that peaked with the guy I had a not so secret crush on singing sixteen candles to me as I blushed. She was awesome at birthdays and Christmas and Halloween. My childhood was full of imagination and magic.

Dude always tells me my mom ruined us all. No one can compete with the birthdays from our past, an unspoken expectation that can never be met.

I am not as good with birthdays and Christmas as she was; I do try at Halloween, maybe because it seems more manageable. It is an unspoken expectation for me too, to recreate the magic of my childhood for my kids, only I have failed miserably, and it becomes more of a chore than family fun time. Over the years I have learned to expect less of myself in that area. My kids will not be ruined for life if I do not throw them the perfect party or if they do not receive the perfect gift. I have forgiven myself for this one.

But there are other unspoken expectations lurking in every task; Gifts I have yet to unwrap, daily surprises of self-loathing and mania. As my daughter enters her teens, I unknowingly pass these on to her.

She doesn’t know it, but I am thirteen also. Like Sandra Cisneros says in “Eleven.” We are every age that we have passed--- sometimes. I actually spend a lot of time in thirteen, overly emotional, oblivious to logic, moods bouncing from ecstatic and giddy to dark and morose. Fortunately (or not), I am also thirty-three and can see the things I hate about myself and try to change them.

There is a short story by Leo Tolstoy, “The Three Questions”; It has been adapted as a children’s book by John Muth. It holds the not so secret of happiness. The three questions are: When is the best time to do things? Who is the most important one? What is the right thing to do?

Here is the answer in a quote from the story:

"Remember that there is only one important time and [that] is Now. The present moment is the only time over which we have dominion. The most important person is always the person with whom you are, who is right before you, for who knows if you will have dealings with any other person in the future. The most important pursuit is making that person, the one standing at your side, happy, for that alone is the pursuit of life."

I am old enough to see the truth in these words and young enough to not practice them regularly. Letting go is the hardest part, letting go of the past, future, the current fantasy or daydream, letting go of everything but this moment.

My mind likes to stay busy by trying to control things that cannot be controlled, worrying about things I cannot control, spending too much time fussing about things I can control, like the cleanliness of my house, and panicking when things are out of control (and they are always out of control).

At thirty-three I long for the peace of letting go. I want to throw away the past and stop making the same mistakes. Like the freecycle give away before the move, I want to rid my life and mind of clutter and appreciate the current moment. I am married to a man I truly love, and I have been blessed with amazing children. I am no longer chasing some dream of success, but just trying to learn to appreciate where I am.

I often hear people talk about really living. Are you doing all the things you hoped you’d do? Where do you see yourself in ten years? I am learning that living is just being where you are. You don’t have to try.

Today I am being thirty-three in my pajamas in a soft antique canopy bed with the sun shining in through a floor to ceiling window, illuminating the dirty laundry, stacks of clean laundry, mail and trash all laid out on the floor.

--Sadge